By  Ethel  M.  Dett 

The  Way  of  an  Eagle 

The  Knave  of  Diamonds 

The  Rocks  of  Valpre 

The  Swindler,  and  Other  Stories 

The  Keeper  of  the  Door 

The  Bars  of  Iron 

The  Hundredth  Chance 

The  Safety  Curtain,  and  Other 
Stories 

Greatheart 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 


"  He  knelt  beside  her,  his  arms  comfortingly  around  her." 

Drawn  by  D.  C.  Hutchinson  Chapter   V. 


The 
Lamp  in   the   Desert 


By 

Ethel   M.    Dell 

Author    of     "The    Way     of    an     Eagle,"     "The     Hundredth 
Chance,"  etc. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  and  London 

dbc    fmfcherbocfcer    press 

1919 


COPYRIGHT,  1919 

BY 
ETHEL   M.  DELL 


ttb«  Itnicherbocher  f>res8,  Hew  Botft 


I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK  TO 

MY   DEARLY-LOVED 

ELIZABETH 

AND   TO   THE   MEMORY   OF   HER    GREAT   GOODNESS 

WHEN    SHE    WALKED   IN   THE 

DESERT   WITH   ME 


He  led  them  all  the  night  through  with  a  light  of  fire. " 

PSALM  Ixxviii,  14. 

Lamps  that  gleam  in  the  city, 

Lamps  that  flare  on  the  wall, 
Lamps  that  shine  on  the  ways  of  men, 

Kindled  by  men  are  all. 

But  the  desert  of  burnt-out  ashes, 

Which  only  the  lost  have  trod, 
Dark  and  barren  and  flowerless, 

Is  lit  by  the  Hand  of  God. 

To  lighten  the  outer  darkness, 

To  hasten  the  halting  feet, 
He  lifts  a  lamp  in  the  desert 

Like  the  lamps  of  men  in  the  street. 

Only  the  wanderers  know  it, 

The  lost  with  those  who  mourn, 
That  lamp  in  the  desert  darkness, 

And  the  joy  that  comes  in  the  dawn. 

That  the  lost  may  come  into  safety, 
And  the  mourners  may  cease  to  doubt, 

The  Lamp  of  God  will  be  shining  still 
When  the  lamps  of  men  go  out. 


CONTENTS 

PARTI 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — BEGGAR'S  CHOICE        .  .         •  ^  •         l 

II. — THE  PRISONER  AT  THE  BAR          .  v,  .       10 

III.— THE  TRIUMPK    .         .  .         .  ^ ,  .       26 

IV. — THE  BRIDE         .         .  .        ...  .,,  .       36 

V. — THE  DREAM       .         .  .         .   f  .       43 

VI. — THE  GARDBN      ,         .  .         ..,,  .       56 

VII. — THE  SERPEWT  IN  THE  GARDEN      .  .       69 

VIII. — THE  FORBIDDEN  PARADISE            .  .       88 

PART  II 

I. — THE  MINISTERING  ANGEL  .         .;,.>  .       99 

II.— THE  RETURN    ./>  <.;;.-.  .       ,.*.:.«  .     107 

III. — THE  BARREN  SOIL    ,>/  . .       .  .118 

IV. — THE  SUMMONS    .      ,u.~  .  •    s     •  .126 

V. — THE  MORNING   .         .   -  v-;       .  .144 

VI. — THE  NIGHT-WATCH  .         .  .151 

VII. — SERVICE  RENDERED     .  .         .  .167 

VIII.— THE  TRUCE  180 


viii  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

IX.— THE  OASIS 189 

X. — THE  SURRENDER          .         .         .         .196 

PART  III 

I. — BLUEBEARD'S  CHAMBER       .         .         .212 

II. — EVIL  TIDINGS 220 

III. — THE  BEAST  OF  PREY   ....     234 
IV. — THE  FLAMING  SWORD  .         .         .251 

V.— TESSA  266 

VI. — THE  ARRIVAL 282 

VII. — FALSE  PRETENCES       ....     292 
VIII. — THE  WRATH  OF  THE  GODS   .         .         .     301 

PART  IV 

I.— DEVIL'S  DICE 311 

II. — OUT  OF  THE  DARKNESS        .         .         .  320 

III. — PRINCESS  BLUEBELL    .         .  ''     .         .  331 

IV. — THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  DESERT       .         .  343 

V.— THE  WOMAN'S  WAY    .         .         .         .356 

VI. — THE  SURPRISE  PARTY  .      -'.         .  365 

VII. — RUSTAM  KARIN  .         .     >    .    '     .  379 

VIII.— PETER 388 

IX.    THE  CONSUMING  FIRE          .         .         .  394 

X. — THE  DESERT  PLACE     ....  401 


Contents  ix 

PART  V 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — GREATER  THAN  DEATH         .         .         .  413 

II. — THE  LAMP  .  .  .  .  .  424 

III. — TESSA'S  MOTHER  ....  434 
IV.— THE  BROAD  ROAD  .  .  .  .445 

V. — THE  DARK  NIGHT        ....  458 

VI.— THE  FIRST  GLIMMER  ....  470 

VII. — THE  FIRST  VICTIM       .         .         .  '      .  479 

VIII.— THE  FIERY  VORTEX     .         .         .         .  489 

IX. — THE  DESERT  OF  ASHES        .         .         .  495 

X. — THE  ANGEL         .         .         .         ...  512 

XI. — THE  DAWN         .         .         .        .         .  520 

XII.— THE  BLUE  JAY  .  .  .  .  .  531 


PART  I 

CHAPTER  I 

BEGGAR'S  CHOICE 

A  GREAT  roar  of  British  voices  pierced  the  jew- 
elled curtain  of  the  Indian  night.  A  toast  with 
musical  honours  was  being  drunk  in  the  sweltering 
dining-room  of  the  officers'  mess.  The  enthusi- 
astic hubbub  spread  far,  for  every  door  and  window 
was  flung  wide.  Though  the  season  was  yet  in  its 
infancy,  the  heat  was  intense.  Markestan  had 
the  reputation  in  the  Indian  Army  for  being  one  of 
the  hottest  corners  in  the  Empire  in  more  senses 
than  one,  and  Kurrumpore,  the  military  centre, 
had  not  been  chosen  for  any  especial  advantages  of 
climate.  So  few  indeed  did  it  possess  in  the  eyes 
of  Europeans  that  none  ever  went  there  save  those 
whom  an  inexorable  fate  compelled.  The  rickety, 
wooden  bungalows  scattered  about  the  cantonment 
were  temporary  lodgings,  not  abiding-places.  The 
women  of  the  community,  like  migratory  birds, 
dwelt  in  them  for  barely  four  months  in  the  year, 


2          The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

flitting  with  the  coming  of  the  pitiless  heat  to 
Bhulwana,  their  little  paradise  in  the  Hills.  But 
that  was  a  twenty-four  hours'  journey  away,  and 
the  men  had  to  be  content  with  an  occasional 
week's  leave  from  the  depths  of  their  inferno, 
unless,  as  Tommy  Denvers  put  it,  they  were  lucky 
enough  to  go  sick,  in  which  case  their  sojourn  in 
paradise  was  prolonged,  much  to  the  delight  of 
the  angels. 

But  on  that  hot  night  the  annual  flitting  of  the 
angels  had  not  yet  come  to  pass,  and  notwith- 
standing the  heat  the  last  dance  of  the  season  was 
to  take  place  at  the  Club  House.  The  occasion 
was  an  exceptional  one,  as  the  jovial  sounds  that 
issued  from  the  officers'  mess-house  testified. 
Round  after  round  of  cheers  followed  the  noisy 
toast,  filling  the  night  with  the  merry  uproar  that 
echoed  far  and  wide.  A  confusion  of  voices 
succeeded  these;  and  then  by  degrees  the  babel 
died  down,  and  a  single  voice  made  itself  heard. 
It  spoke  with  easy  fluency  to  the  evident  appreci- 
ation of  its  listeners,  and  when  it  ceased  there 
came  another  hearty  cheer.  Then  with  jokes  and 
careless  laughter  the  little  company  of  British 
officers  began  to  disperse.  They  came  forth  in 
lounging  groups  on  to  the  steps  of  the  mess-house, 
the  foremost  of  them — Tommy  Denvers — holding 
the  arm  of  his  captain,  who  suffered  the  familiarity 
as  he  suffered  most  things,  with  the  utmost  indiffer- 
ence. None  but  Tommy  ever  attempted  to  get  on 
familiar  terms  with  Everard  Monck.  He  was 


Beggar's  Choice  3 

essentially  a  man  who  stood  alone.  But  the  slim, 
fair-haired  young  subaltern  worshipped  him  openly 
and  with  reason.  For  Monck  it  was  who,  grimly 
resolute,  had  pulled  him  through  the  worst  illness 
he  had  ever  known,  accomplishing  by  sheer  force 
of  will  what  Ralston,  the  doctor,  had  failed  to 
accomplish  by  any  other  means.  And  in  conse- 
quence and  for  all  time  the  youngest  subaltern  in 
the  mess  had  become  Monck's  devoted  adherent. 

They  stood  together  for  a  moment  at  the  top  of 
the  steps  while  Monck,  his  dark,  lean  face  wholly 
unresponsive  and  inscrutable,  took  out  a  cigar. 
The  night  was  a  wonderland  of  deep  spaces  and 
glittering  stars.  Somewhere  far  away  a  native 
tom-tom  throbbed  like  the  beating  of  a  fevered 
pulse,  quickening  spasmodically  at  intervals  and 
then  dying  away  again  into  mere  monotony.  The 
air  was  scentless,  still,  and  heavy. 

"It's  going  to  be  deuced  warm,"  said  Tommy. 

"Have  a  smoke?"  said  Monck,  proffering  his 
case. 

The  boy  smiled  with  swift  gratification.  "Oh, 
thanks  awfully!  But  it's  a  shame  to  hurry  over  a 
good  cigar,  and  I  promised  Stella  to  go  straight 
back." 

' '  A  promise  is  a  promise, ' '  said  Monck.  ' '  Have 
it  later!"  He  added  rather  curtly,  "I'm  going 
your  way  myself." 

"Good!"  said  Tommy  heartily.  "But  aren't 
you  going  to  show  at  the  Club  House?  Aren't 
you  going  to  dance?" 


4          The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Monck  tossed  down  his  lighted  match  and  set 
his  heel  on  it.  "I'm  keeping  my  dancing  for  to- 
morrow," he  said.  "The  best  man  always  has 
more  than  enough  of  that. " 

Tommy  made  a  gloomy  sound  that  was  like  a 
groan  and  began  to  descend  the  steps  by  his  side. 
They  walked  several  paces  along  the  dim  road  in 
silence;  then  quite  suddenly  he  burst  into  impulsive 
speech. 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Monck!" 

"I  shouldn't,"  said  Monck. 

Tommy  checked  abruptly,  looking  at  him  oddly, 
uncertainly.  "How  do  you  know  what  I  was 
going  to  say  ? "  he  demanded. 

"I  don't,"  said  Monck. 

"I  believe  you  do,"  said  Tommy,  unconvinced. 

Monck  blew  forth  a  cloud  of  smoke  and  laughed 
in  his  brief,  rather  grudging  way.  "You're  get- 
ting quite  clever  for  a  child  of  your  age,"  he 
observed.  "But  don't  overdo  it,  my  son!  Don't 
get  precocious!" 

Tommy's  hand  grasped  his  arm  confidentially. 
"Monck,  if  I  don't  speak  out  to  someone,  I  shall 
bust!  Surely  you  don't  mind  my  speaking  out 
to  you!" 

"Not  if  there's  anything  to  be  gained  by  it," 
said  Monck. 

He  ignored  the  friendly,  persuasive  hand  on  his 
arm,  but  yet  in  some  fashion  Tommy  knew  that  it 
was  not  unwelcome.  He  kept  it  there  as  he  made 
reply. 


Beggar's  Choice  5 

"There  isn't.  Only,  you  know,  old  chap,  it 
does  a  fellow  good  to  unburden  himself.  And  I'm 
bothered  to  death  about  this  business. " 

"A  bit  late  in  the  day,  isn't  it?"  suggested 
Monck. 

"Oh  yes,  I  know;  too  late  to  do  anything. 
But,"  Tommy  spoke  with  force,  "the  nearer  it 
gets,  the  worse  I  feel.  I'm  downright  sick  about 
it,  and  that's  the  truth.  How  would  you  feel,  I 
wonder,  if  you  knew  your  one  and  only  sister  was 
going  to  marry  a  rotter?  Would  you  be  satisfied 
to  let  things  drift?" 

Monck  was  silent  for  a  space.  They  walked 
on  over  the  dusty  road  with  the  free  swing  of  the 
conquering  race.  One  or  two  'rickshaws  met  them 
as  they  went,  and  a  woman's  voice  called  a  greet- 
ing; but  though  they  both  responded,  it  scarcely 
served  as  a  diversion.  The  silence  between  them 
remained. 

Monck  spoke  at  last,  briefly,  with  grim  re- 
straint. "That's  rather  a  sweeping  assertion  of 
yours.  I  shouldn't  repeat  it  if  I  were  you. " 

"It's  true  all  the  same,"  maintained  Tommy. 
"You  know  it's  true. " 

"I  know  nothing, "  said  Monck.  "I've  nothing 
whatever  against  Dacre. " 

"You've  nothing  in  favour  of  him  anyway," 
growled  Tommy. 

"Nothing  particular;  but  I  presume  your  sister 
has. "  There  was  just  a  hint  of  irony  in  the  quiet 
rejoinder. 


6          The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Tommy  winced.  "Stella!  Great  Scott,  no! 
She  doesn't  care  the  toss  of  a  halfpenny  for  him. 
I  know  that  now.  She  only  accepted  him  because 
she  found  herself  in  such  a  beastly  anomalous 
position,  with  all  the  spiteful  cats  of  the  regiment 
arrayed  against  her,  treating  her  like  a  pariah. " 

' '  Did  she  tell  you  so  ? "  There  was  no  irony  in 
Monck's  tone  this  time.  It  fell  short  and  stern. 

Again  Tommy  glanced  at  him  as  one  uncertain. 
"Not  likely, "  he  said. 

"Then  why  do  you  make  the  assertion?  What 
grounds  have  you  for  making  the  assertion?" 
Monck  spoke  with  insistence  as  one  who  meant  to 
have  an  answer. 

And  the  boy  answered  him,  albeit  shamefacedly. 
"I  really  can't  say,  Monck.  I'm  the  sort  of  fool 
that  sees  things  without  being  able  to  explain  how. 
But  that  Stella  has  the  faintest  spark  of  real  love 
for  that  fellow  Dacre, — well,  I'd  take  my  dying 
oath  that  she  hasn't." 

"Some  women  don't  go  in  for  that  sort  of 
thing,"  commented  Monck  dryly. 

"Stella  isn't  that  sort  of  woman."  Hotly  came 
Tommy's  defence.  "You  don't  know  her.  She's 
a  lot  deeper  than  I  am." 

Monck  laughed  a  little.  "Oh,  you're  deep 
enough,  Tommy.  But  you're  transparent  as 
well.  Now  your  sister  on  the  other  hand  is  quite 
inscrutable.  But  it  is  not  for  us  to  interfere.  She 
probably  knows  what  she  is  doing — very  well 
indeed." 


Beggar's  Choice  7 

"That's  just  it.  Does  she  know?  Isn't  she 
taking  a  most  awful  leap  in  the  dark?"  Keen 
anxiety  sounded  in  Tommy's  voice.  "It's  been 
such  horribly  quick  work,  you  know.  Why,  she 
hasn't  been  out  here  six  weeks.  It's  a  shame  for 
any  girl  to  marry  on  such  short  notice  as  that.  I 
said  so  to  her,  and  she — she  laughed  and  said,  '  Oh, 
that's  beggar's  choice!  Do  you  think  I  could  en- 
joy life  with  your  angels  in  paradise  in  unmarried 
bliss?  I'd  sooner  stay  down  in  hell  with  you.' 
And  she'd  have  done  it  too,  Monck.  And  it  would 
probably  have  killed  her.  That's  partly  how  I 
came  to  know. " 

"Haven't  the  women  been  decent  to  her?" 
Monck's  question  fell  curtly,  as  if  the  subject  were 
one  which  he  was  reluctant  to  discuss. 

Tommy  looked  at  him  through  the  starlight, 
"You  know  what  they  are,"  he  said  bluntly. 
"They'd  hunt  anybody  if  once  Lady  Harriet  gave 
tongue.  She  chose  to  eye  Stella  askance  from  the 
very  outset,  and  of  course  all  the  rest  followed 
suit.  Mrs.  Ralston  is  the  only  one  in  the  whole 
crowd  who  has  ever  treated  her  decently,  but  of 
course  she's  nobody.  Everyone  sits  on  her.  As 
if,"  he  spoke  with  heat,  "Stella  weren't  as  good 
as  the  best  of  'em — and  better !  What  right  have 
they  to  treat  her  like  a  social  outcast  just  because 
she  came  out  here  to  me  on  her  own  ?  It's  hateful ! 
It's  iniquitous !  What  else  could  she  have  done? " 

"It  seems  reasonable — from  a  man's  point  of 
view,"  said  Monck. 


8          The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"It  was  reasonable.  It  was  the  only  thing 
possible.  And  just  for  that  they  chose  to  turn  the 
cold  shoulder  on  her, — to  ostracize  her  practically. 
What  had  she  done  to  them?  What  right  had 
they  to  treat  her  like  that?"  Fierce  resentment 
sounded  in  Tommy's  voice. 

"  I'll  tell  you  if  you  want  to  know,"  said  Monck 
abruptly.  "It's  the  law  of  the  pack  to  rend  an 
outsider.  And  your  sister  will  always  be  that — 
married  or  otherwise.  They  may  fawn  upon  her 
later,  Dacre  being  one  to  hold  his  own  with  women. 
But  they  will  always  hate  her  in  their  hearts. 
You  see,  she  is  beautiful. " 

"Is  she?"  said  Tommy  in  surprise.  "Do  you 
know,  I  never  thought  of  that!" 

Monck  laughed — a  cold,  sardonic  laugh.  ' '  Quite 
so!  You  wouldn't!  But  Dacre  has — and  a  few 
more  of  us. " 

"Oh,  confound  Dacre!"  Tommy's  irritation 
returned  with  a  rush.  "I  detest  the  man!  He 
behaves  as  if  he  were  conferring  a  favour.  When 
he  was  making  that  speech  to-night,  I  wanted  to 
fling  my  glass  at  him." 

"Ah,  but  you  mustn't  do  those  things."  Monck 
spoke  reprovingly.  "You  may  be  young,  but 
you're  past  the  schoolboy  stage.  Dacre  is  more 
of  a  woman's  favourite  than  a  man's,  you  must 
remember.  If  your  sister  is  not  in  love  with  him, 
she  is  about  the  only  woman  in  the  station  who 
isn't." 

"That's    the   disgusting    part    of    it,"    fumed 


Beggar's  Choice  9 

Tommy.  "He  makes  love  to  every  woman  he 
meets." 

They  had  reached  a  shadowy  compound  that 
bordered  the  dusty  road  for  a  few  yards.  A  little 
eddying  wind  made  a  mysterious  whisper  among 
its  thirsty  shrubs.  The  bungalow  it  surrounded 
showed  dimly  in  the  starlight,  a  wooden  structure 
with  a  raised  verandah  and  a  flight  of  steps  leading 
up  to  it.  A  light  thrown  by  a  red-shaded  lamp 
shone  out  from  one  of  the  rooms,  casting  a  shaft 
of  ruddy  brilliance  into  the  night  as  though  it  defied 
the  splendour  without.  It  shone  upon  Tommy's 
face  as  he  paused,  showing  it  troubled  and  anxious. 

"You  may  as  well  come  in,"  he  said.  "She  is 
sure  to  be  ready.  Come  in  and  have  a  drink ! ' ' 

Monck  stood  still.  His  dark  face  was  in  shadow. 
He  seemed  to  be  debating  some  point  with  himself. 

Finally,  "All  right.  Just  for  a  minute,"  he 
said.  "But,  look  here,  Tommy!  Don't  you  let 
your  sister  suspect  that  you've  been  making  a 
confidant  of  me !  I  don't  fancy  it  would  please  her. 
Put  on  a  grin,  man!  Don't  look  bowed  down 
with  family  cares !  She  is  probably  quite  capable 
of  looking  after  herself — like  the  rest  of  'em." 

He  clapped  a  careless  hand  on  the  lad's  shoulder 
as  they  turned  up  the  path  together  towards  the 
streaming  red  light. 

"You're  a  bit  of  a  woman-hater,  aren't  you?" 
said  Tommy. 

And  Monck  laughed  again  his  short,  rather 
bitter  laugh ;  but  he  said  no  word  in  answer. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   PRISONER   AT   THE    BAR 

IN  the  room  with  the  crimson-shaded  lamp 
Stella  Denvers  sat  waiting.  The  red  glow  com- 
passed her  warmly,  striking  wonderful  copper 
gleams  in  the  burnished  coils  of  her  hair.  Her 
face  was  bent  over  the  long  white  gloves  that  she 
was  pulling  over  her  wrists,  a  pale  face  that  yet 
was  extraordinarily  vivid,  with  features  that  were 
delicate  and  proud,  and  lips  that  had  the  exquisite 
softness  and  purity  of  a  flower. 

She  raised  her  eyes  from  her  task  at  sound  of  the 
steps  below  the  window,  and  their  starry  brightness 
under  her  straight  black  brows  gave  her  an  infi- 
nite allurement.  Certainly  a  beautiful  woman,  as 
Monck  had  said,  and  possessing  the  brilliance 
and  the  wonder  of  youth  to  an  almost  dazzling 
degree!  Perhaps  it  was  not  altogether  surprising 
that  the  ladies  of  the  regiment  had  not  been  too 
enthusiastic  in  their  welcome  of  this  sister  of 
Tommy's  who  had  come  so  suddenly  into  their 
midst,  defying  convention.  Her  advent  had  been 
utterly  unexpected — a  total  surprise  even  to 
Tommy,  who,  returning  one  day  from  the  polo- 


The  Prisoner  at  the  Bar         n 

ground,  had  found  her  awaiting  him  in  the  bache- 
lor quarters  which  he  had  shared  with  three  other 
subalterns.  And  her  arrival  had  set  the  whole 
station  buzzing. 

Led  by  the  Colonel's  wife,  Lady  Harriet  Mans- 
field, the  women  of  the  regiment  had — with  the 
single  exception  of  Mrs.  Ralston  whose  opinion 
was  of  no  account — risen  and  condemned  the 
splendid  stranger  who  had  come  amongst  them 
with  such  supreme  audacity  and  eclipsed  the  fair- 
est of  them.  Stella's  own  simple  explanation  that 
she  had,  upon  attaining  her  majority  and  fifty 
pounds  a  year,  decided  to  quit  the  home  of  some 
distant  relatives  who  did  not  want  her  and  join 
Tommy  who  was  the  only  near  relation  she  had, 
had  satisfied  no  one.  She  was  an  interloper,  and 
as  such  they  united  to  treat  her.  As  Lady  Harriet 
said,  no  nice  girl  would  have  dreamed  of  taking 
such  an  extraordinary  step,  and  she  had  not  the 
smallest  intention  of  offering  her  the  chaperonage 
that  she  so  conspicuously  lacked.  If  Mrs.  Ralston 
chose  to  do  so,  that  was  her  own  affair.  Such 
action  on  the  part  of  the  surgeon's  very  ordinary 
wife  would  make  no  difference  to  any  one.  She 
was  glad  to  think  that  all  the  other  ladies  were  too 
well-bred  to  accept  without  reservation  so  uncon- 
ventional a  type. 

The  fact  that  she  was  Tommy's  sister  was  the 
only  consideration  in  her  favour.  Tommy  was 
quite  a  nice  boy,  and  they  could  not  for  his  sake 
entirely  exclude  her  from  the  regimental  society, 


12         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

but  to  no  intimate  gathering  was  she  ever  invited, 
nor  from  the  female  portion  of  the  community  was 
there  any  welcome  for  her  at  the  Club. 

The  attitude  of  the  officers  of  the  regiment  was 
of  a  totally  different  nature.  They  had  accepted 
her  with  enthusiasm,  possibly  all  the  more  marked 
on  account  of  the  aloofness  of  their  women  folk, 
and  in  a  very  short  time  they  were  paying  her 
homage  as  one  man.  The  subalterns  who  had 
shared  their  quarters  with  Tommy  turned  out  to 
make  room  for  her,  treating  her  like  a  queen  sud- 
denly come  into  her  own,  and  like  a  queen  she 
entered  into  possession,  accepting  all  courtesy 
just  as  she  ignored  all  slights  with  a  delicate  self- 
possession  that  yet  knew  how  to  be  gracious  when 
occasion  demanded. 

Mrs.  Ralston  would  have  offered  her  harbourage 
had  she  desired  it,  but  there  was  pride  in  Stella — a 
pride  that  surged  and  rebelled  very  far  below  her 
serenity.  She  received  favours  from  none. 

And  so,  unshackled  and  unchaperoned,  she  had 
gone  her  way  among  her  critics,  and  no  one — not 
even  Tommy — suspected  how  deep  was  the  wound 
that  their  barely-veiled  hostility  had  inflicted.  In 
bitterness  of  soul  she  hid  it  from  all  the  world,  and 
only  her  brother  and  her  brother's  grim  and  some- 
what unapproachable  captain  were  even  vaguely 
aware  of  its  existence. 

Everard  Monck  was  one  of  the  very  few  men 
who  had  not  laid  themselves  down  before  her 
dainty  feet,  and  she  had  gradually  come  to  be- 


The  Prisoner  at  the  Bar         13 

lieve  that  this  man  shared  the  silent,  side-long 
disapproval  manifested  by  the  women.  Very 
strangely  that  belief  hurt  her  even  more  deeply,  in 
a  subtle,  incomprehensible  fashion,  than  any  slights 
inflicted  by  her  own  sex.  Possibly  Tommy's  warm 
enthusiasm  for  the  man  had  made  her  more  sensi- 
tive regarding  his  good  opinion.  And  possibly  she 
was  over  ready  to  read  condemnation  in  his  grave 
eyes.  But — whatever  the  reason — she  would  have 
given  much  to  have  had  him  on  her  side.  Some- 
how it  mattered  to  her,  and  mattered  vitally. 

But  Monck  had  never  joined  her  retinue  of 
courtiers.  He  was  never  other  than  courteous  to 
her,  but  he  did  not  seek  her  out.  Perhaps  he  had 
better  things  to  do.  Aloof,  impenetrable,  cold, 
he  passed  her  by,  and  she  would  have  been  even 
more  amazed  than  Tommy  had  she  heard  him 
describe  her  as  beautiful,  so  convinced  was  she 
that  he  saw  in  her  no  charm. 

It  had  been  a  disheartening  struggle,  this  hewing 
for  herself  a  way  along  the  rocky  paths  of  pre- 
judice, and  many  had  been  the  thorns  under  her 
feet.  Though  she  kept  a  brave  heart  and  never 
faltered,  she  had  tired  inevitably  of  the  perpetual 
effort  it  entailed.  Three  weeks  after  her  arrival, 
when  the  annual  exodus  of  the  ladies  of  the  regi- 
ment to  the  Hills  was  drawing  near,  she  became 
engaged  to  Ralph  Dacre,  the  handsomest  and 
most  irresponsible  man  in  the  mess. 

With  him  at  least  her  power  to  attract  was 
paramount.  He  was  blindly,  almost  fulsomely,  in 


14         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

love.  Her  beauty  went  to  his  head  from  the  out- 
set ;  it  fired  his  blood.  He  worshipped  her  hotly, 
and  pursued  her  untiringly,  caring  little  whether 
she  returned  his  devotion  so  long  as  he  ultimately 
took  possession.  And  when  finally,  half-disdain- 
fully,  she  yielded  to  his  insistence,  his  one  all- 
mastering  thought  became  to  clinch  the  bargain 
before  she  could  repent  of  it.  It  was  a  mad  and 
headlong  passion  that  drove  him — not  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life;  and  the  subtle  pride  of  her 
and  the  soft  reserve  made  her  all  the  more  desirable 
in  his  eyes. 

He  had  won  her;  he  did  not  stop  to  ask  himself 
how.  The  women  said  that  the  luck  was  all  on  her 
side.  The  men  forebore  to  express  an  opinion. 
Dacre  had  attained  his  captaincy,  but  he  was 
not  regarded  with  great  respect  by  any  one.  His 
fellow-officers  shrugged  their  shoulders  over  him, 
and  the  commanding  officer,  Colonel  Mansfield, 
had  been  heard  to  call  him  "the  craziest  madman 
it  had  ever  been  his  fate  to  meet."  No  one, 
except  Tommy,  actively  disliked  him,  and  he  had 
no  grounds  for  so  doing,  as  Monck  had  pointed 
out.  Monck,  who  till  then  had  occupied  the  same 
bungalow,  declared  he  had  nothing  against  him, 
and  he  was  surely  in  a  position  to  form  a  very 
shrewd  opinion.  For  Monck  was  neither  fool  nor 
madman,  and  there  was  very  little  that  escaped 
his  silent  observation. 

He  was  acting  as  best  man  at  the  morrow's 
ceremony,  the  function  having  been  almost  thrust 


The  Prisoner  at  the  Bar         15 

upon  him  by  Dacre  who,  oddly  enough,  shared 
something  of  Tommy's  veneration  for  his  very 
reticent  brother-officer.  There  was  scant  friend- 
ship between  them.  Each  had  been  accustomed 
to  go  his  own  way  wholly  independent  of  the  other. 
They  were  no  more  than  casual  acquaintances, 
and  they  were  content  to  remain  such.  But 
undoubtedly  Dacre  entertained  a  certain  respect 
for  Monck  and  observed  a  wariness  of  behaviour 
in  his  presence  that  he  never  troubled  to  assume 
for  any  other  man.  He  was  careful  in  his  dealings 
with  him,  being  at  all  times  not  wholly  certain  of 
his  ground. 

Other  men  felt  the  same  uncertainty  in  con- 
nection with  Monck.  None — save  Tommy — was 
sure  what  manner  of  man  he  was.  Tommy  alone 
took  him  for  granted  with  whole-hearted  admira- 
tion, and  at  his  earnest  wish  it  had  been  arranged 
between  them  that  Monck  should  take  up  his  abode 
with  him  when  the  forthcoming  marriage  had  de- 
prived each  of  a  companion.  Tommy  was  delighted 
with  the  idea,  and  he  had  a  gratifying  suspicion 
that  Monck  himself  was  inclined  to  be  pleased  with 
it  also. 

The  Green  Bungalow  had  become  considerably 
more  homelike  since  Stella's  arrival,  and  Tommy 
meant  to  keep  it  so.  He  was  sure  that  Monck  and 
he  would  have  the  same  tastes. 

And  so  on  that  eve  of  his  sister's  wedding,  the 
thought  of  their  coming  companionship  was  the 
sole  redeeming  feature  of  the  whole  affair,  and 


16         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

he  turned  in  his  impulsive  fashion  to  say  so  just 
as  they  reached  the  verandah  steps. 

But  the  words  did  not  leave  his  lips,  for  the  red 
glow  flung  from  the  lamp  had  found  Monck's 
upturned  face,  and  something — something  about 
it — checked  all  speech  for  the  moment.  He  was 
looking  straight  up  at  the  lighted  window  and  the 
face  of  a  beautiful  woman  who  gazed  forth  into 
the  night.  And  his  eyes  were  no  longer  cold  and 
unresponsive,  but  burning,  ardent,  intensely  alive. 
Tommy  forgot  what  he  was  going  to  say  and  only 
stared. 

The  moment  passed;  it  was  scarcely  so  much  as 
a  moment.  And  Monck  moved  on  in  his  calm, 
unfaltering  way. 

"Your  sister  is  ready  and  waiting,"  he  said. 

They  ascended  the  steps  together,  and  the  girl 
who  sat  by  the  open  window  rose  with  a  stately 
movement  and  stepped  forward  to  meet  them. 

4 '  Hullo,  Stella ! ' '  was  Tommy's  greeting.  ' '  Hope 
I'm  not  awfully  late.  They  wasted  such  a  con- 
founded time  over  toasts  at  mess  to-night.  Yours 
was  one  of  'em,  and  I  had  to  reply.  I  hadn't  a 
notion  what  to  say.  Captain  Monck  thinks  I 
made  an  awful  hash  of  it  though  he  is  too  con- 
siderate to  say  so." 

"On  the  contrary  I  said  '  Hear,  hear!'  to  every 
stutter,"  said  Monck,  bowing  slightly  as  he  took 
the  hand  she  offered. 

She  was  wearing  a  black  lace  dress  with  a  glitter- 
ing spangled  scarf  of  Indian  gauze  floating  about 


The  Prisoner  at  the  Bar         17 

her.  Her  neck  and  shoulders  gleamed  in  the  soft 
red  glow.  She  was  superb  that  night. 

She  smiled  at  Monck,  and  her  smile  was  as  a 
shining  cloak  hiding  her  soul.  "So  you  have 
started  upon  your  official  duties  already! "  she  said. 
"It  is  the  best  man's  business  to  encourage  and 
console  everyone  concerned,  isn't  it?" 

The  faint  cynicism  of  her  speech  was  like  her 
smile.  It  held  back  all  intrusive  curiosity.  And 
the  man's  answering  smile  had  something  of  the 
same  quality.  Reserve  met  reserve. 

' '  I  hope  I  shall  not  find  it  very  arduous  in  that 
respect,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  come  here  in  that 
capacity." 

"I  am  glad  of  that,"  she  said.  "Won't  you 
come  in  and  sit  down?" 

She  motioned  him  within  with  a  queenly  ges- 
ture, but  her  invitation  was  wholly  lacking  in 
warmth.  It  was  Tommy  who  pressed  forward 
with  eager  hospitality. 

"Yes,  and  have  a  drink!  It's  a  thirsty  night. 
It's  getting  infernally  hot.  Stella,  you're  lucky 
to  be  going  out  of  it." 

"Oh,  I  am  very  lucky,"  Stella  said. 

They  entered  the  lighted  room,  and  Tommy 
went  in  search  of  refreshment. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  said  Stella. 

Her  voice  was  deep  and  pure,  and  the  music  in  it 
made  him  wonder  if  she  sang.  He  sat  facing  her 
while  she  returned  with  apparent  absorption  to 
the  fastening  of  her  gloves. 


1 8         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  spoke  again  after  a  moment  without  raising 
her  eyes.  "Are  you  proposing  to  take  up  your 
abode  here  to-morrow?" 

"That's  the  idea,"  said  Monck. 

' '  I  hope  you  and  Tommy  will  be  quite  comfort- 
able,"  she  said.  "No  doubt  he  will  be  a  good 
deal  happier  with  you  than  he  has  been  for  the 
past  few  weeks  with  me." 

"I  don't  know  why  he  should  be, "  said  Monck. 

"No?"  She  was  frowning  slightly  over  her 
glove.  "You  see,  my  sojourn  here  has  not  been 
— a  great  success.  I  think  poor  Tommy  has  felt 
it  rather  badly.  He  likes  a  genial  atmosphere." 

"He  won't  get  much  of  that  in  my  company," 
observed  Monck. 

She  smiled  momentarily.  "Perhaps  not.  But 
I  think  he  will  not  be  sorry  to  be  relieved  of  family 
cares.  They  have  weighed  rather  heavily  upon 
him." 

"He  will  be  sorry  to  lose  you, "  said  Monck. 

"Oh,  of  course,  in  a  way.  But  he  will  soon  get 
over  that."  She  looked  up  at  him  suddenly. 
"You  will  all  be  rather  thankful  when  I  am  safely 
married,  Captain  Monck,"  she  said. 

There  was  a  second  or  two  of  silence.  Monck's 
eyes  looked  straight  back  into  hers  while  it 
lasted,  but  they  held  no  warmth,  scarcely  even 
interest. 

"I  really  don't  know  why  you  should  say  that, 
Miss  Denvers, "  he  said  stiffly  at  length. 

Stella's  gloved  hands  clasped  each  other.     She 


The  Prisoner  at  the  Bar         19 

was  breathing  somewhat  hard,  yet  her  bearing 
was  wholly  regal,  even  disdainful. 

' '  Only  because  I  realize  that  I  have  been  a  great 
anxiety  to  all  the  respectable  portion  of  the  com- 
munity, "  she  made  careless  reply.  "I  think  I  am 
right  in  classing  you  under  that  heading,  am  I 
not?" 

He  heard  the  challenge  in  her  tone,  delicately 
though  she  presented  it,  and  something  in  him  that 
was  fierce  and  unrestrained  sprang  up  to  meet  it. 
But  he  forced  it  back.  His  expression  remained 
wholly  inscrutable. 

"I  don't  think  I  can  claim  to  be  anything  else," 
he  said.  "But  that  fact  scarcely  makes  me  in  any 
sense  one  of  a  community.  I  think  I  prefer  to 
stand  alone." 

Her  blue  eyes  sparkled  a  little.  "Strangely,  I 
have  the  same  preference,"  she  said.  "It  has 
never  appealed  to  me  to  be  one  of  a  crowd.  I 
like  independence — whatever  the  crowd  may  say. 
But  I  am  quite  aware  that  in  a  woman  that  is 
considered  a  dangerous  taste.  A  woman  should 
always  conform  to  rule." 

"I  have  never  studied  the  subject,"  said  Monck. 

He  spoke  briefly.  Tommy's  confidences  had 
stirred  within  him  that  which  could  not  be  ex- 
pressed. The  whole  soul  of  him  shrank  with  an 
almost  angry  repugnance  from  discussing  the 
matter  with  her.  No  discussion  could  make  any 
difference  at  this  stage. 

Again  for  a  second  he  saw  her  slight  frown. 


20         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Then  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  stretching  up 
her  arms  as  if  weary  of  the  matter.  "  In  fact  you 
avoid  all  things  feminine,"  she  said.  "How  dis- 
creet of  you!" 

A  large  white  moth  floated  suddenly  in  and 
began  to  beat  itself  against  the  lamp-shade. 
Monck's  eyes  watched  it  with  a  grim  concen- 
tration. Stella's  were  half-closed.  She  seemed 
to  have  dismissed  him  from  her  mind  as  an  un- 
important detail.  The  silence  widened  between 
them. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  movement.  The  fluttering 
creature  had  found  the  flame  and  fallen  dazed  upon 
the  table.  Almost  in  the  same  second  Monck 
stooped  forward  swiftly  and  silently,  and  crushed 
the  thing  with  his  closed  fist. 

Stella  drew  a  quick  breath.  Her  eyes  were 
wide  open  again.  She  sat  up. 

' '  Why  did  you  do  that  ? ' ' 

He  looked  at  her  again,  a  smouldering  gleam 
in  his  eyes.  "It  was  on  its  way  to  destruction," 
he  said. 

"And  so  you  helped  it!" 

He  nodded.  "Yes.  Long-drawn-out  agonies 
don't  attract  me." 

Stella  laughed  softly,  yet  with  a  touch  of  mock- 
ery. "Oh,  it  was  an  act  of  mercy,  was  it?  You  didn't 
look  particularly  merciful.  In  fact,  that  is  about 
the  last  quality  I  should  have  attributed  to  you." 

"I  don't  think,"  Monck  said  very  quietly, 
"that  you  are  in  a  position  to  judge  me." 


The  Prisoner  at  the  Bar         21 

She  leaned  forward.  He  saw  that  her  bosom 
was  heaving.  "That  is  your  prerogative,  isn't 
it?"  she  said.  "I — I  am  just  the  prisoner  at  the 
bar,  and — like  the  moth — I  have  been  condemned 
— without  mercy." 

He  raised  his  brows  sharply.  For  a  second  he  had 
the  look  of  a  man  who  has  been  stabbed  in  the  back. 
Then  with  a  swift  effort  he  pulled  himself  together. 

In  the  same  moment  Stella  rose.  She  was 
smiling,  and  there  was  a  red  flush  in  her  cheeks. 
She  took  her  fan  from  the  table. 

"And  now,"  she  said,  "I  am  going  to  dance — 
all  night  long.  Every  officer  in  the  mess — save 
one — has  asked  me  for  a  dance." 

He  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant.  He  had 
checked  one  impulse,  but  even  to  his  endurance 
there  were  limits.  He  spoke  as  one  goaded. 

"Will  you  give  me  one?" 

She  looked  him  squarely  in  the  eyes.  "No, 
Captain  Monck." 

His  dark  face  looked  suddenly  stubborn.  "I 
don't  often  dance,"  he  said.  "I  wasn't  going  to 
dance  to-night.  But — I  will  have  one — I  must 
have  one — with  you." 

"Why?"  Her  question  fell  with  a  crystal 
clearness.  There  was  something  of  crystal  hard- 
ness in  her  eyes. 

But  the  man  was  undaunted.  "Because  you 
have  wronged  me,  and  you  owe  me  reparation." 

' '  I — have  wronged — you ! ' '  She  spoke  the  words 
slowly,  still  looking  him  in  the  eyes. 


22         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  made  an  abrupt  gesture  as  of  holding  back 
some  inner  force  that  strongly  urged  him.  "I  am 
not  one  of  your  persecutors,"  he  said.  "I  have 
never  in  my  life  presumed  to  judge  you — far  less 
condemn  you." 

His  voice  vibrated  as  though  some  emotion 
fought  fiercely  for  the  mastery.  They  stood  facing 
each  other  in  what  might  have  been  open  antagon- 
ism but  for  that  deep  quiver  in  the  man's  voice. 

Stella  spoke  after  the  lapse  of  seconds.  She 
had  begun  to  tremble. 

"Then  why — why  did  you  let  me  think  so? 
Why  did  you  always  stand  aloof?" 

There  was  a  tremor  in  her  voice  also,  but  her 
eyes  were  shining  with  the  light  half-eager,  half- 
anxious,  of  one  who  seeks  for  buried  treasure. 

Monck's  answer  was  pitched  very  low.  It  was 
as  if  the  soul  of  him  gave  utterance  to  the  words. 
"  It  is  my  nature  to  stand  aloof.  I  was  waiting. ' ' 

"Waiting?"  Her  two  hands  gripped  suddenly 
hard  upon  her  fan,  but  still  her  shining  eyes  did  not 
flinch  from  his.  Still  with  a  quivering  heart  she 
searched. 

Almost  in  a  whisper  came  his  reply.  "I  was 
waiting — till  my  turn  should  come." 

"Ah!"  The  fan  snapped  between  her  hands; 
she  cast  it  from  her  with  a  movement  that  was 
almost  violent. 

Monck  drew  back  sharply.  With  a  smile  that 
was  grimly  cynical  he  veiled  his  soul.  ' '  I  was  a 
fool,  of  course,  and  I  am  quite  aware  that  my 


The  Prisoner  at  the  Bar        23 

foolishness  is  nothing  to  you.     But  at  least  you 
know  now  how  little  cause  you  have  to  hate  me." 

She  had  turned  from  him  and  gone  to  the  open 
window.  She  stood  there  bending  slightly  for- 
ward, as  one  who  strains  for  a  last  glimpse  of 
something  that  has  passed  from  sight. 

Monck  remained  motionless,  watching  her. 
From  another  room  near  by  there  came  the  sound 
of  Tommy's  humming  and  the  cheery  pop  of  a 
withdrawn  cork. 

Stella  spoke  at  last,  in  a  whisper,  and  as  she 
spoke  the  strain  went  out  of  her  attitude  and  she 
drooped  against  the  wood-work  of  the  window  as  if 
spent.  "Yes;  but  I  know — too  late." 

The  words  reached  him  though  he  scarcely  felt 
that  they  were  intended  to  do  so.  He  suffered 
them  to  go  into  silence;  the  time  for  speech  was 
past. 

The   seconds    throbbed   away   between    them. 
Stella  did  not  move  or  speak  again,  and  at  last 
Monck    turned    from    her.     He   picked    up    the, 
broken  fan,  and  with  a  curious  reverence  he  laid 
it  out  of  sight  among  some  books  on  the  table. 

Then  he  stood  immovable  as  granite  and 
waited. 

There  came  the  sound  of  Tommy's  footsteps, 
and  in  a  moment  the  door  was  flung  open.  Tommy 
advanced  with  all  a  host's  solicitude. 

"Oh,  I  say,  I'm  awfully  sorry  to  have  kept  you 
waiting  so  long.  That  silly  ass  of  a  khit  had 
cleared  off  and  left  us  nothing  to  drink.  Stella, 


24         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

we  shall  miss  all  the  fun  if  we  don't  hurry  up. 
Come  on,  Monck,  old  chap,  say  when!" 

He  stopped  at  the  table,  and  Stella  turned  from 
the  window  and  moved  forward.  Her  face  was 
pale,  but  she  was  smiling. 

"Captain  Monck  is  coming  with  us,  Tommy," 
she  said. 

' '  What  ? ' '  Tommy  looked  up  sharply.  ' '  Really  ? 
I  say,  Monck,  I'm  pleased.  It'll  do  you  good." 

Monck  was  smiling  also,  faintly,  grimly.  ' '  Don't 
mix  any  strong  waters  for  me,  Tommy!"  he  said. 
"And  you  had  better  not  be  too  generous  to  your- 
self! Remember,  you  will  have  to  dance  with 
Lady  Harriet!" 

Tommy  grimaced  above  the  glasses.  "All 
right.  Have  some  lime-juice!  You  will  have  to 
dance  with  her  too.  That's  some  consolation!" 

"I?"  said  Monck.  He  took  the  glass  and 
handed  it  to  Stella,  then  as  she  shook  her  head  he 
put  it  to  his  own  lips  and  drank  as  a  man  drinks  to 
a  memory.  "No, "  he  said  then.  "I  am  dancing 
only  one  dance  to-night,  and  that  will  not  be  with 
Lady  Harriet  Mansfield." 

"Who  then?"  questioned  Tommy. 

It  was  Stella  who  answered  him,  in  her  voice  a 
note  that  sounded  half-reckless,  half-defiant.  "It 
isn't  given  to  every  woman  to  dance  at  her  own 
funeral,"  she  said;  "Captain  Monck  has  kindly 
consented  to  assist  at  the  orgy  of  mine." 

"Stella!"  protested  Tommy,  flushing.  "I  hate 
to  hear  you  talking  like  that!" 


The  Prisoner  at  the  Bar         25 

Stella  laughed  a  little,  softly,  as  though  at  the 
vagaries  of  a  child.  "Poor  Tommy!"  she  said. 
"What  it  is  to  be  so  young!" 

"I'd  sooner  be  a  babe  in  arms  than  a  cynic," 
said  Tommy  bluntly. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    TRIUMPH 

LADY  HARRIET'S  lorgnettes  were  brought  pierc- 
ingly to  bear  upon  the  bride-elect  that  night,  and 
her  thin,  refined  features  never  relaxed  during 
the  operation.  She  was  looking  upon  such  youth 
and  loveliness  as  seldom  came  her  way;  but  the 
sight  gave  her  no  pleasure.  She  deemed  it  ex- 
tremely unsuitable  that  Stella  should  dance  at  all 
on  the  eve  of  her  wedding,  and  when  she  realized 
that  nearly  every  man  in  the  room  was  having  his 
turn,  her  disapproval  by  no  means  diminished. 
She  wondered  audibly  to  one  after  another  of  her 
followers  what  Captain  Dacre  was  about  to  permit 
such  a  thing.  And  when  Monck — Everard  Monck 
of  all  people  who  usually  avoided  all  gatherings 
at  the  Club  and  had  never  been  known  to  dance 
if  he  could  find  any  legitimate  means  of  excusing 
himself — waltzed  Stella  through  the  throng,  her 
indignation  amounted  almost  to  anger.  The  mess 
had  yielded  to  the  last  man. 

"I  call  it  almost   brazen,"  she  said  to  Mrs. 
Burton,    the    Major's    wife.     "She    flaunts  her 
unconventionality  in  our  faces." 
26 


The  Triumph  27 

"A  grave  mistake,"  agreed  Mrs.  Burton.  "It 
will  not  make  us  think  any  the  more  highly  of  her 
when  she  is  married." 

"I  am  in  two  minds  about  calling  on  her,"  de- 
clared Lady  Harriet.  "I  am  very  doubtful  as  to 
the  advisability  of  inviting  any  one  so  obviously 
unsuitable  into  our  inner  circle.  Of  course  Mrs. 
Ralston,"  she  raised  her  long  pointed  chin  upon  the 
name,  "will  please  herself  in  the  matter.  She  will 
probably  be  the  first  to  try  and  draw  her  in,  but 
what  Mrs.  Ralston  does  and  what  I  do  are  two  very 
different  things.  She  is  not  particular  as  to  the 
society  she  keeps,  and  the  result  is  that  her  opinion 
is  very  justly  regarded  as  worthless." 

"Oh,  quite,"  agreed  Mrs.  Burton,  sending  an 
obviously  false  smile  in  the  direction  of  the  lady 
last  named  who  was  approaching  them  in  the 
company  of  Mrs.  Ermsted,  the  Adjutant's  wife,  a 
little  smart  woman  whom  Tommy  had  long  since 
surnamed  "The  Lizard." 

Mrs.  Ralston,  the  surgeon's  wife,  had  once  been  a 
pretty  girl,  and  there  were  occasions  still  on  which 
her  prettiness  lingered  like  the  gleams  of  a  fading 
sunset.  She  had  a  diffident  manner  in  society,  but 
yet  she  was  the  only  woman  in  the  station  who 
refused  to  follow  Lady  Harriet's  lead.  As  Tommy 
had  said,  she  was  a  nobody.  Her  influence  was  of 
no  account,  but  yet  with  unobtrusive  insistence 
she  took  her  own  way,  and  none  could  turn  her 
therefrom. 

Mrs.  Ermsted  held  her  up  to  ridicule  openly, 


28         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

and  yet  very  strangely  she  did  not  seem  to  dislike 
the  Adjutant's  sharp-tongued  little  wife.  She 
had  been  very  good  to  her  on  more  than  one  occa- 
sion, and  the  most  appreciative  remark  that  Mrs. 
Ermsted  had  ever  found  to  make  regarding  her 
was  that  the  poor  thing  was  so  fond  of  drudging 
for  somebody  that  it  was  a  real  kindness  to  let  her. 
Mrs.  Ermsted  was  quite  willing  to  be  kind  to  any 
one  in  that  respect. 

They  approached  now,  and  Lady  Harriet  gave 
to  each  her  distinctive  smile  of  royal  condescension. 

"I  expected  to  see  you  dancing,  Mrs.  Ermsted," 
she  said. 

"Oh,  it's  too  hot,"  declared  Mrs.  Ermsted. 
"You  want  the  temperament  of  a  salamander  to 
dance  on  a  night  like  this." 

She  cast  a  barbed  glance  towards  Stella  as  she 
spoke  as  Monck  guided  her  to  the  least  crowded 
corner  of  the  ball-room.  Stella's  delicate  face  was 
flushed,  but  it  was  the  exquisite  flush  of  a  blush- 
rose.  Her  eyes  were  of  a  starry  brightness;  she 
had  the  radiant  look  of  one  who  has  achieved  her 
heart's  desire. 

"What  a  vision  of  triumph!"  commented  Mrs. 
Ermsted.  "It's  soothing  anyway  to  know  that 
that  wild-rose  complexion  won't  survive  the  sum- 
mer. Captain  Monck  looks  curiously  out  of  his 
element.  No  doubt  he  prefers  the  bazaars." 

"But  Stella  Denvers  is  enchanting  to-night," 
murmured  Mrs.  Ralston. 

Lady  Harriet  overheard  the  murmur,  and  her 


The  Triumph  29 

aquiline  nose  was  instantly  elevated  a  little  higher. 
' '  So  many  people  never  see  beyond  the  outer  husk, 
she  said. 

Mrs.  Burton  smiled  out  of  her  slitty  eyes.  "I 
should  scarcely  imagine  Captain  Monck  to  be 
one  of  them,"  she  said.  "He  is  obviously  here  as 
a  matter  of  form  to-night.  The  best  man  must 
be  civil  to  the  bride — whatever  his  feelings. " 

Lady  Harriet's  face  cleared  a  little,  although 
her  estimate  of  Mrs.  Burton's  opinion  was  not  a 
very  high  one.  "That  may  account  for  Captain 
Dacre's  extremely  complacent  attitude,"  she  said. 
' '  He  regards  the  attentions  paid  to  his  fiancee  as  a 
tribute  to  himself." 

"He  may  change  his  point  of  view  when  he  is 
married,"  laughed  Mrs.  Ermsted.  "It  will  be 
interesting  to  watch  developments.  We  all  know 
what  Captain  Dacre  is.  I  have  never  yet  seen  him 
satisfied  to  take  a  back  seat." 

Mrs.  Burton  laughed  with  her.  "Nor  content 
to  occupy  even  a  front  one  at  the  same  show  for 
long, "  she  observed.  ' '  I  marvel  to  see  him  caught 
in  the  noose  so  easily." 

"None  but  an  adventuress  could  have  done  it, " 
declared  Mrs.  Ermsted.  "She  has  practised  the 
art  of  slinging  the  lasso  before  now. " 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston,  "forgive  me,  but 
that  is  unworthy  of  you." 

Mrs.  Ermsted  flicked  an  eyelid  in  Mrs.  Burton's 
direction  with  an  insouciance  that  somehow  robbed 
the  act  of  any  serious  sting.  "Poor  Mrs.  Ralston 


30        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

holds  such  a  high  opinion  of  everybody,"  she  said, 
1 '  that  she  must  meet  with  a  hundred  disappoint- 
ments in  a  day." 

Lady  Harriet's  down-turned  lips  said  nothing, 
but  they  were  none  the  less  eloquent  on  that 
account. 

Mrs.  Ralston's  eyes  of  faded  blue  watched 
Stella  with  a  distressed  look.  She  was  not  hurt 
on  her  own  account,  but  she  hated  to  hear  the  girl 
criticized  in  so  unfriendly  a  spirit.  Stella  was 
more  brilliantly  beautiful  that  night  than  she  had 
ever  before  seen  her,  and  she  longed  to  hear  a  word 
of  appreciation  from  that  hostile  group  of  women. 
But  she  knew  very  well  that  the  longing  was  vain, 
and  it  was  with  relief  that  she  saw  Captain  Dacre 
himself  saunter  up  .to  claim  Mrs.  Ermsted  for  a 
partner. 

Smiling,  debonair,  complacent,  the  morrow's 
bridegroom  had  a  careless  quip  for  all  and  sundry 
on  that  last  night.  It  was  evident  that  his  fiancee's 
defection  was  a  matter  of  no  moment  to  him. 
Stella  was  to  have  her  fling,  and  he,  it  seemed, 
meant  to  have  his.  He  and  Mrs.  Ermsted  had 
had  many  a  flirtation  in  the  days  that  were  past 
and  it  was  well  known  that  Captain  Ermsted 
heartily  detested  him  in  consequence.  Some  even 
hinted  that  matters  had  at  one  time  approached 
very  near  to  a  climax,  but  Ralph  Dacre  knew  how 
to  handle  difficult  situations,  and  with  consider- 
able tact  had  managed  to  avoid  it.  Little  Mrs. 
Ermsted,  though  still  willing  to  flirt,  treated  him 


The  Triumph  31 

with  just  a  tinge  of  disdain,  now-a-days;  no  one 
knew  wherefore.  Perhaps  it  was  more  for  Stella's 
edification  than  her  own  that  she  condescended  to 
dance  with  him  on  that  sweltering  evening  of 
Indian  spring. 

But  Stella  was  evidently  too  engrossed  with  her 
own  affairs  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  doings  of 
her  fiance.  His  love-making  was  not  of  a  nature 
to  be  carried  on  in  public.  That  would  come  later 
when  they  walked  home  through  the  glittering 
night  and  parted  in  the  shadowy  verandah  while 
Tommy  tramped  restlessly  about  within  the 
bungalow.  He  would  claim  that  as  a  right  she 
knew,  and  once  or  twice  remembering  the  methods 
of  his  courtship  a  little  shudder  went  through  her 
as  she  danced.  Very  willingly  would  she  have  left 
early  and  foregone  all  intercourse  with  her  lover 
that  night.  But  there  was  no  escape  for  her.  She 
was  pledged  to  the  last  dance,  and  for  the  sake  of 
the  pride  that  she  carried  so  high  she  would  not 
shrink  under  the  malicious  eyes  that  watched 
her  so  unsparingly.  Her  dance  with  Monck  was 
quickly  over,  and  he  left  her  with  the  briefest  word 
of  thanks.  Afterwards  she  saw  him  no  more. 

The  rest  of  the  evening  passed  in  a  whirl  of 
gaiety  that  meant  very  little  to  her.  Perhaps, 
on  the  whole,  it  was  easier  to  bear  than  an  evening 
spent  in  solitude  would  have  been.  She  knew  that 
she  would  be  too  utterly  weary  to  lie  awake  when 
bedtime  came  at  last.  And  the  night  would  be 
so  short — ah,  so  short!  And  so  she  danced  and 


32         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

laughed  with  the  gayest  of  the  merrymakers,  and 
when  it  was  over  at  last  even  the  severest  of  her 
critics  had  to  admit  that  her  triumph  was  com- 
plete. She  had  borne  herself  like  a  queen  at  a 
banquet  of  rejoicing,  and  like  a  queen  she  finally 
quitted  the  festive  scene  in  a  'rickshaw  drawn  by  a 
team  of  giddy  subalterns,  scattering  her  careless 
favours  upon  all  who  cared  to  compete  for  them. 

As  she  had  foreseen,  Dacre  accompanied  the 
procession.  He  had  no  mind  to  be  cheated  of  his 
rights,  and  it  was  he  who  finally  dispersed  the 
irresponsible  throng  at  the  steps  of  the  verandah, 
handing  her  up  them  with  a  royal  air  and  drawing 
her  away  from  the  laughter  and  cheering  that 
followed  her. 

With  her  hand  pressed  lightly  against  his  side, 
he  led  her  away  to  the  darkest  corner,  and  there  he 
pushed  back  the  soft  wrap  from  her  shoulders 
and  gathered  her  into  his  arms. 

She  stood  almost  stiffly  in  his  embrace,  neither 
yielding  nor  attempting  to  avoid.  But  at  the 
touch  of  his  lips  upon  her  neck  she  shivered. 
There  was  something  sensual  in  that  touch  that 
revolted  her — in  spite  of  herself. 

"Ralph,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  quivered  a 
little,  "I  think  you  must  say  good-bye  to  me.  I 
am  tired  to-night.  If  I  don't  rest,  I  shall  never  be 
ready  for  to-morrow." 

He  made  an  inarticulate  sound  that  in  some 
fashion  expressed  what  the  drawing  of  his  lips 
had  made  her  feel.  ' '  Sweetheart — to-morrow ! "  he 


The  Triumph  33 

said,  and  kissed  her  again  with  a  lingering  persist- 
ence that  to  her  overwrought  nerves  had  in  it 
something  that  was  almost  unendurable.  It  made 
her  think  of  an  epicurean  tasting  some  favourite 
dish  and  smacking  his  lips  over  it. 

A  hint  of  irritation  sounded  in  her  voice  as  she 
said,  drawing  slightly  away  from  him,  "Yes,  I 
want  to  rest  for  the  few  hours  that  are  left.  Please 
say  good  night  now,  Ralph!  Really  I  am  tired." 

He  laughed  softly,  his  cheek  laid  to  hers.  "Ah, 
Stella!"  he  said.  "What  a  queen  you  have  been 
to-night!  I  have  been  watching  you  with  the 
rest  of  the  world,  and  I  shouldn't  mind  laying 
pretty  heavy  odds  that  there  isn't  a  single  man 
among  'em  that  doesn't  envy  me." 

Stella  drew  a  deep  breath  as  if  she  laboured 
against  some  oppression.  "It's  nice  to  be  envied, 
isn't  it?"  she  said. 

He  kissed  her  again.  "Ah!  You're  a  prize!" 
he  said.  "It  was  just  a  question  of  first  in,  and  I 
never  was  one  to  let  the  grass  grow.  I  plucked 
the  fruit  while  all  the  rest  were  just  looking  at  it. 
Stella — mine !  Stella — mine ! ' ' 

His  lips  pressed  hers  between  the  words  closely, 
possessively,  and  again  involuntarily  she  shivered. 
She  could  not  return  his  caresses  that  night. 

His  hold  relaxed  at  last.  "How  cold  you  are, 
my  Star  of  the  North!"  he  said.  "What  is  it? 
Surely  you  are  not  nervous  at  the  thought  of 
to-morrow  after  your  triumph  to-night !  You  will 
carry  all  before  you,  never  fear ! ' ' 


34         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  answered  him  in  a  voice  so  flat  and  emotion- 
less that  it  sounded  foreign  even  to  herself.  "Oh, 
no,  I  am  not  nervous.  I'm  too  tired  to  feel  any- 
thing to-night." 

He  took  her  face  between  his  hands.  ' 'Ah,  well, 
you  will  be  all  mine  this  time  to-morrow.  One  kiss 
and  I  will  let  you  go.  You  witch — you  enchant- 
ress !  I  never  thought  you  would  draw  old  Monck 
too  into  your  toils." 

Again  she  drew  that  deep  breath  as  of  one 
borne  down  by  some  heavy  weight.  "Nor  I," 
she  said,  and  gave  him  wearily  the  kiss  for  which 
he  bargained. 

He  did  not  stay  much  longer,  possibly  realizing 
his  inability  to  awake  any  genuine  response  in 
her  that  night.  Her  remoteness  must  have  chilled 
any  man  less  ardent.  But  he  went  from  her  too 
encompassed  with  blissful  anticipation  to  attach 
any  importance  to  the  obvious  lack  of  correspond- 
ing delight  on  her  part.  She  was  already  in  his 
estimation  his  own  property,  and  the  thought  of 
her  happiness  was  one  which  scarcely  entered  into 
his  consideration.  She  had  accepted  him,  and  no 
doubt  she  realized  that  she  was  doing  very  well 
for  herself.  He  had  no  misgivings  on  that  point. 
Stella  was  a  young  woman  who  knew  her  own 
mind  very  thoroughly.  She  had  secured  the  finest 
catch  within  reach,  and  she  was  not  likely  to  repent 
of  her  bargain  at  this  stage. 

So,  unconcernedly,  he  went  his  way,  throwing 
a  couple  of  annas  with  careless  generosity  to  a 


The  Triumph  35 

beggar  who  followed  him  along  the  road  whining 
for  alms,  well -satisfied  with  himself  and  with  all 
the  world  on  that  wonderful  night  that  had  wit- 
nessed the  final  triumph  of  the  woman  whom  he 
had  chosen  for  his  bride,  asking  nought  of  the  gods 
save  that  which  they  had  deigned  to  bestow — 
Fortune's  favourite  whom  every  man  must  envy. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    BRIDE 

IT  was  remarked  by  Tommy's  brother-officers 
on  the  following  day  that  it  was  he  rather  than  the 
bride  who  displayed  all  the  shyness  that  befitted 
the  occasion. 

As  he  walked  up  the  aisle  with  his  sister's  hand 
on  his  arm,  his  face  was  crimson  and  reluctant,  and 
he  stared  straight  before  him  as  if  unwilling  to 
meet  all  the  watching  eyes  that  followed  their 
progress.  But  the  bride  walked  proudly  and 
firmly,  her  head  held  high  with  even  the  suspicion 
of  an  upward,  disdainful  curve  to  her  beautiful 
mouth,  the  ghost  of  a  defiant  smile.  To  all  who 
saw  her  she  was  a  splendid  spectacle  of  bridal 
content. 

"Unparalleled  effrontery!"  whispered  Lady 
Harriet,  surveying  the  proud  young  face  through 
her  lorgnettes. 

"Ah,  but  she  is  exquisite,"  murmured  Mrs.  Ral- 
ston with  a  wistful  mist  in  her  faded  eyes. 

"  'Faultily    faultless,   icily    regular,    splendidly 
null,'  "  scoffed  little  Mrs.  Ermsted  upon   whose 
cheeks  there  bloomed  a  faint  fixed  glow. 
.36 


The  Bride  37 

Yes,  she  was  splendid.  Even  the  most  hostile 
had  to  admit  it.  On  that,  the  day  of  her  final 
victory,  she  surpassed  herself.  She  shone  as  a 
queen  with  majestic  self-assurance,  wholly  at  her 
ease,  sublimely  indifferent  to  all  criticism. 

At  the  chancel-steps  she  bestowed  a  brief  smile 
of  greeting  upon  her  waiting  bridegroom,  and  for 
a  single  moment  her  steady  eyes  rested,  though 
without  any  gleam  of  recognition,  upon  the  dark 
face  of  the  best  man. 

Then  the  service  began,  and  with  the  utmost 
calmness  of  demeanour  she  took  her  part. 

When  the  service  was  over,  Tommy  extended  his 
hesitating  invitation  to  Lady  Harriet  and  his 
commanding  officer  to  follow  the  newly  wedded 
pair  to  the  vestry.  They  went.  Colonel  Mans- 
field with  a  species  of  jocose  pomposity  specially 
assumed  for  the  occasion,  his  wife,  upright,  thin- 
lipped,  forbidding,  instinct  with  wordless  dis- 
approval. 

The  bride, — the  veil  thrown  back  from  her 
beautiful  face, — stood  laughing  with  her  husband. 
There  was  no  fixity  in  the  soft  flush  of  those  deli- 
cately rounded  cheeks.  Even  Lady  Harriet  real- 
ized that,  though  she  had  never  seen  so  much 
colour  in  the  girl's  face  before.  She  advanced 
stiffly,  and  Ralph  Dacre  with  smiling  grace  took 
his  wife's  arm  and  drew  her  forward. 

"This  is  good  of  you,  Lady  Harriet,"  he  declared. 
"I  was  hoping  for  your  support.  Allow  me  to 
introduce — my  wife!" 


38        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

His  words  had  a  pride  of  possession  that  rang 
clarion-like  in  every  syllable,  and  in  response  Lady 
Harriet  was  moved  to  offer  a  cold  cheek  in  salu- 
tation to  the  bride.  Stella  bent  instantly  and 
kissed  it  with  a  quick  graciousness  that  would  have 
melted  any  one  less  austere,  but  in  Lady  Harriet's 
opinion  the  act  was  marred  by  its  very  impulsive- 
ness. She  did  not  like  impulsive  people.  So,  with 
chill  repression,  she  accepted  the  only  overture 
from  Stella  that  she  was  ever  to  receive. 

But  if  she  were  proof  against  the  girl's  ready 
charm,  with  her  husband  it  was  quite  otherwise. 
Stella  broke  through  his  pomposity  without  effort, 
giving  him  both  her  hands  with  a  simplicity  that 
went  straight  to  his  heart.  He  held  them  in  a 
tight,  paternal  grasp. 

' '  God  bless  you,  my  dear ! "  he  said.  ' '  I  wish  you 
both  every  happiness  from  the  bottom  of  my  soul. " 

She  turned  from  him  a  few  seconds  later  with  a 
faintly  tremulous  laugh  to  give  her  hand  to  the 
best  man,  but  it  did  not  linger  in  his,  and  to  his 
curtly  proffered  felicitations  she  made  no  verbal 
response  whatever. 

Ten  minutes  later,  as  she  left  the  vestry  with  her 
husband,  Mrs.  Ralston  pressed  forward  unexpect- 
edly, and  openly  checked  her  progress  in  full  view 
of  the  whole  assembly. 

"My  dear,"  she  murmured  humbly,  "my  dear, 
you'll  allow  me  I  know.  I  wanted  just  to  tell  you 
how  beautiful  you  look,  and  how  earnestly  I  pray 
for  your  happiness. " 


The  Bride  39 

It  was  a  daring  move,  and  it  had  not  been 
accomplished  without  courage.  Lady  Harriet  in 
the  background  stiffened  with  displeasure,  nearer  to 
actual  anger  than  she  had  ever  before  permitted 
herself  to  be  with  any  one  so  contemptible  as 
the  surgeon's  wife.  Even  Major  Ralston  himself, 
most  phlegmatic  of  men,  looked  momentarily 
disconcerted  by  his  wife's  action. 

But  Stella — Stella  stopped  dead  with  a  new  light 
in  her  eyes,  and  in  a  moment  dropped  her  husband's 
arm  to  fling  both  her  own  about  the  gentle,  faded 
woman  who  had  dared  thus  openly  to  range  her- 
self on  her  side. 

"Dear  Mrs.  Ralston,"  she  said,  not  very  stead- 
ily, "how  more  than  kind  of  you  to  tell  me  that!" 

The  tears  were  actually  in  her  eyes  as  she  kissed 
the  surgeon's  wife.  That  spontaneous  act  of  sym- 
pathy had  pierced  straight  through  her  armour  of 
reserve  and  found  its  way  to  her  heart.  Her  face, 
as  she  passed  on  down  the  aisle  by  her  husband's 
side,  was  wonderfully  softened,  and  even  Mrs. 
Ermsted  found  no  gibe  to  fling  after  her.  The 
smile  that  quivered  on  Stella's  lips  was  full  of  an 
unconscious  pathos  that  disarmed  all  criticism. 

The  sunshine  outside  the  church  was  blinding. 
It  smote  through  the  awning  with  pitiless  intensity. 
Around  the  carriage  a  curious  crowd  had  gathered 
to  see  the  bridal  procession.  To  Stella's  dazzled 
eyes  it  seemed  a  surging  sea  of  unfamiliar  faces. 
But  one  face  stood  out  from  the  rest — the  calm 
countenance  of  Ralph  Dacre's  magnificent  Sikh 


4°        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

servant  clad  in  snowy  linen,  who  stood  at  the 
carriage  door  and  gravely  bowed  himself  before 
her,  stretching  an  arm  to  protect  her  dress  from 
the  wheel. 

"This  is  Peter  the  Great,"  said  Dacre's  careless 
voice,  "a  highly  honourable  person,  Stella,  and  a 
most  efficient  bodyguard. " 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Stella,  and  held  out 
her  hand. 

She  acted  with  the  utmost  simplicity.  During 
her  four  weeks'  sojourn  in  India  she  had  not 
learned  to  treat  the  native  servant  with  contempt, 
and  the  majestic  presence  of  this  man  made  her  feel 
almost  as  if  she  were  dealing  with  a  prince. 

He  straightened  himself  swiftly  at  her  action, 
and  she  saw  a  sudden,  gleaming  smile  flash  across 
his  grave  face.  Then  he  took  the  proffered  hand, 
bending  low  over  it  till  his  turbaned  forehead 
for  a  moment  touched  her  fingers, 

"May  the  sun  always  shine  on  you,  my  mem- 
sahib  !"  he  said. 

Stella  realized  afterwards  that  in  action  and  in 
words  there  lay  a  tacit  acceptance  of  her  as  mis- 
tress which  was  to  become  the  allegiance  of  a  life- 
long service. 

She  stepped  into  the  carriage  with  a  feeling  of 
warmth  at  her  heart  which  was  very  different  from 
the  icy  constriction  that  had  bound  it  when  she  had 
arrived  at  the  church  a  brief  half -hour  before  with 
Tommy. 

Her  husband's  arm  was  about  her  as  they  drove 


The  Bride  41 

away.  He  pressed  her  to  his  side.  "Oh,  Star  of 
my  heart,  how  superb  you  are!"  he  said.  "I  feel 
as  if  I  had  married  a  queen.  And  you  weren't  even 
nervous." 

She  bent  her  head,  not  looking  at  him.  ' '  Poor 
Tommy  was, "  she  said. 

He  smiled  tolerantly.  ' '  Tommy's  such  a  young- 
ster." 

She  smiled  also.  "Exactly  one  year  younger 
than  I  am." 

He  drew  her  nearer,  his  eyes  devouring  her. 
"You,  Stella!"  he  said.  "You  are  as  ageless  as 
the  stars. " 

She  laughed  faintly,  not  yielding  herself  to  the 
closer  pressure  though  not  actually  resisting  it. 
"That  is  merely  a  form  of  telling  me  that  I  am  much 
older  than  I  seem,"  she  said.  "And  you  are  quite 
right.  lam." 

His  arm  compelled  her.  "You  are  you,"  he 
said.  ' '  And  you  are  so  divinely  young  and  beau- 
tiful that  there  is  no  measuring  you  by  ordinary 
standards.  They  all  know  it.  That  is  why  you 
weren't  received  into  the  community  with  open 
arms.  You  are  utterly  above  and  beyond  them 
all." 

She  flinched  slightly  at  the  allusion.  "I  hope 
I  am  not  so  extraordinary  as  all  that,"  she  said. 

His  arm  became  insistent.  "You  are  unique, " 
he  said.  "You  are  superb." 

There  was  passion  barely  suppressed  in  his 
hold  and  a  sudden  swift  shiver  went  through  her. 


42        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Oh,  Ralph, "  she  said,  "don't — don't  worship  me 
too  much!" 

Her  voice  quivered  in  its  appeal,  but  somehow 
its  pathos  passed  him  by.  He  saw  only  her  beauty, 
and  it  thrilled  every  pulse  in  his  body.  Fiercely 
almost,  he  strained  her  to  him.  And  he  did  not 
so  much  as  notice  that  her  lips  trembled  too  pit- 
eously  to  return  his  kiss,  or  that  her  submission  to 
his  embrace  was  eloquent  of  mute  endurance  rather 
than  glad  surrender.  He  stood  as  a  conqueror  on 
the  threshold  of  a  newly  acquired  kingdom  and 
exulted  over  the  splendour  of  its  treasures  because 
it  was  all  his  own. 

It  did  not  even  occur  to  him  to  doubt  that  her 
happiness  fully  equalled  his.  Stella  was  a  woman 
and  reserved;  but  she  was  happy  enough,  oh, 
she  was  happy  enough.  With  complacence  he  re- 
flected that  if  every  man  in  the  mess  envied  him, 
probably  every  woman  in  the  station  would  have 
gladly  changed  places  with  her.  Was  he  not 
Fortune's  favourite?  What  happier  fate  could 
any  woman  desire  than  to  be  his  bride? 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  DREAM 

IT  was  a  fortnight  after  the  wedding,  on  an  even- 
ing of  intense  heat,  that  Everard  Monck,  now 
established  with  Tommy  at  The  Green  Bungalow, 
came  in  from  polo  to  find  the  mail  awaiting  him. 
He  sauntered  in  through  the  verandah  in  search  of 
a  drink  which  he  expected  to  find  in  the  room 
which  Stella  during  her  brief  sojourn  had  made 
more  dainty  and  artistic  than  the  rest,  albeit  it  had 
never  been  dignified  by  the  name  of  drawing-room. 
There  was  light  green  matting  on  the  floor  and 
there  were  also  light  green  cushions  in  each  of  the 
long  wicker  chairs.  Curtains  of  green  gauze  hung 
before  the  windows,  and  the  fierce  sunlight  filter- 
ing through  gave  the  room  a  strangely  translucent 
effect.  It  was  like  a  chamber  under  the  sea. 

It  had  been  Monck's  intention  to  have  his  drink 
and  pass  straight  on  to  his  own  quarters  for  a  bath, 
but  the  letters  on  the  table  caught  his  eye  and  he 
stopped.  Standing  in  the  green  dimness  with  a 
tumbler  in  one  hand,  he  sorted  them  out.  There 
were  two  for  himself  and  two  for  Tommy,  the  latter 
obviously  bills,  and  under  these  one  more,  also  for 
43 


44        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Tommy  in  a  woman's  clear  round  writing.  It 
came  from  Srinagar,  and  Monck  stood  for  a  second 
or  two  holding  it  in  his  hand  and  staring  straight 
out  before  him  with  eyes  that  saw  not.  Just  for 
those  seconds  a  mocking  vision  danced  gnomelike 
through  his  brain.  Just  at  this  moment  probably 
most  of  the  other  men  were  opening  letters  from 
their  wives  in  the  Hills.  And  he  saw  the  chance 
he  had  not  taken  like  a  flash  of  far,  elusive  sunlight 
on  the  sky-line  of  a  troubled  sea. 

The  vision  passed.  He  laid  down  the  letter 
and  took  up  his  own  correspondence.  One  of  the 
letters  was  from  England.  He  poured  out  his 
drink  and  flung  himself  down  to  read  it. 

It  came  from  the  only  relation  he  possessed  in 
the  world — his  brother.  Bernard  Monck  was  the 
elder  by  fifteen  years — a  man  of  brilliant  capabili- 
ties, who  had  long  since  relinquished  all  idea  of 
worldly  advancement  in  the  all-absorbing  interest 
of  a  prison  chaplaincy.  They  had  not  met  for 
over  five  years,  but  they  maintained  a  regular 
correspondence,  and  every  month  brought  to 
Everard  Monck  the  thin  envelope  directed  in  the 
square,  purposeful  handwriting  of  the  man  who 
had  been  during  the  whole  of  his  life  his  nearest  and 
best  friend.  Lying  back  in  the  wicker-chair,  relaxed 
and  weary,  he  opened  the  letter  and  began  to  read. 

Ten  minutes  later,  Tommy  Denvers,  racing  in, 
also  in  polo-kit,  stopped  short  upon  the  threshold 
and  stared  in  shocked  amazement  as  if  some  sud- 
den horror  had  caught  him  by  the  throat. 


The  Dream  45 

' '  Great  heavens  above,  Monck !  What's  the 
matter? "  he  ejaculated. 

Perhaps  it  was  in  part  due  to  the  green  twilight 
of  the  room,  but  it  seemed  to  him  in  that  first 
startled  moment  that  Monck's  face  had  the  look 
of  a  man  who  had  received  a  deadly  wound.  The 
impression  passed  almost  immediately,  but  the 
memory  of  it  was  registered  in  his  brain  for  all 
time. 

Monck  raised  the  tumbler  to  his  lips  and  drank 
before  replying,  and  as  he  did  so  his  custom- 
ary grave  composure  became  apparent,  making 
Tommy  wonder  if  his  senses  had  tricked  him. 
He  looked  at  the  lad  with  sombre  eyes  as  he  set 
down  the  glass.  His  brother's  letter  was  still 
gripped  in  his  hand. 

"Hullo,  Tommy!"  he  said,  a  shadowy  smile 
about  his  mouth.  "What  are  you  in  such  a  deuce 
of  a  hurry  about?" 

Tommy  glanced  down  at  the  letters  on  the  table 
and  pounced  upon  the  one  that  lay  uppermost. 
"A  letter  from  Stella!  And  about  time,  too! 
She  isn't  much  of  a  correspondent  now-a-days. 
Where  are  they  now?  Oh,  Srinagar.  Lucky 
beggar — Dacre!  Wish  he'd  taken  me  along  as 
well  as  Stella !  What  am  I  in  such  a  hurry  about  ? 
Well,  my  dear  chap,  look  at  the  time!  You'll  be 
late  for  mess  yourself  if  you  don't  buck  up." 

Tommy's  treatment  -of  his  captain  was  ever  of 
the  airiest  when  they  were  alone.  He  had  never 
stood  in  awe  of  Monck  since  the  days  of  his  illness ; 


46        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

but  even  in  his  most  familiar  moments  his  manner 
was  not  without  a  certain  deference.  His  respect 
for  him  was  unbounded,  and  his  pride  in  their  inti- 
macy was  boyishly  whole-hearted.  There  was  no 
sacrifice  great  or  small  that  he  would  not  willingly 
have  offered  at  Monck's  behest. 

And  Monck  knew  it,  realized  the  lad's  devotion 
as  pure  gold,  and  valued  it  accordingly.  But,  that 
fact  notwithstanding,  his  faith  in  Tommy's  discre- 
tion did  not  move  him  to  bestow  his  unreserved 
confidence  upon  him.  Probably  to  no  man  in  the 
world  could  he  have  opened  his  secret  soul.  He 
was  not  of  an  expansive  nature.  But  Tommy  oc- 
cupied an  inner  place  in  his  regard,  and  there  were 
some  things  that  he  veiled  from  all  beside  which 
he  no  longer  attempted  to  hide  from  this  faithful 
follower  of  his.  Thus  far  was  Tommy  privileged. 

He  got  to  his  feet  in  response  to  the  boy's  last 
remark.  "Yes,  you're  right.  We  ought  to  be 
going.  I  shall  be  interested  to  hear  what  your 
sister  thinks  of  Kashmir.  I  went  up  there  on  a 
shooting  expedition  two  years  after  I  came  out. 
It's  a  fine  country." 

"Is  there  anywhere  that  you  haven't  been?" 
said  Tommy.  "I  believe  you'll  write  a  book 
one  of  these  days." 

Monck  looked  ironical.  "Not  till  I'm  on  the 
shelf,  Tommy,"  he  said,  "where  there's  nothing 
better  to  do." 

"You'll  never  be  on  the  shelf,"  said  Tommy 
quickly.  "You'll  be  much  too  valuable. " 


The  Dream  47 

Monck  shrugged  his  shoulders  slightly  and 
turned  to  go.  "I  doubt  if  that  consideration 
would  occur  to  any  one  but  you,  my  boy,"  he  said. 

They  walked  to  the  mess-house  together  a  little 
later  through  the  airless  dark,  and  there  was 
nothing  in  Monck's  manner  either  then  or  during 
the  evening  to  confirm  the  doubt  in  Tommy's 
mind.  Spirits  were  not  very  high  at  the  mess 
just  then.  Nearly  all  the  women  had  left  for  the 
Hills,  and  the  increasing  heat  was  beginning  to 
make  life  a  burden.  The  younger  officers  did  their 
best  to  be  cheerful,  and  one  of  them,  Bertie  Oakes, 
a  merry,  brainless  youngster,  even  proposed  an 
impromptu  dance  to  enliven  the  proceedings. 
But  he  did  not  find  many  supporters.  Men  were 
tired  after  the  polo.  Colonel  Mansfield  and  Major 
Burton  were  deeply  engrossed  with  some  news  that 
had  been  brought  by  Barnes  of  the  Police,  and 
no  one  mustered  energy  for  more  than  talk. 

Tommy  soon  decided  to  leave  early  and  return 
to  his  letters.  Before  departing,  he  looked  round 
for  Monck  as  was  his  custom,  but  finding  that  he 
and  Captain  Ermsted  had  also  been  drawn  into  the 
discussion  with  the  Colonel,  he  left  the  mess  alone. 

Back  in  The  Green  Bungalow  he  flung  off  his  coat 
and  threw  himself  down  in  his  shirt-sleeves  on  the 
verandah  to  read  his  sister's  letter.  The  light  from 
the  red-shaded  lamp  streamed  across  the  pages. 
Stella  had  written  very  fully  of  their  wanderings, 
but  her  companion  she  scarcely  mentioned. 

It  was  like  a  gorgeous  dream,  she  said.     Each 


48        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

day  seemed  to  bring  greater  beauties.  They  had 
spent  the  first  two  at  Agra  to  see  the  wonderful 
Taj  which  of  course  was  wholly  beyond  description. 
Thence  they  had  made  their  way  to  Rawal  Pindi 
where  Ralph  had  several  military  friends  to  be  in- 
troduced to  his  bride.  It  was  evident  that  he  was 
anxious  to  display  his  new  possession,  and  Tommy 
frowned  a  little  over  that  episode,  realizing  fully 
why  Stella  touched  so  lightly  upon  it. "  For  some 
reason  his  dislike  of  Dacre  was  increasing  rapidly, 
and  he  read  the  letter  very  critically.  It  was  the 
first  with  any  detail  that  she  had  written.  From 
Rawal  Pindi  they  had  journeyed  on  to  exquisite 
Murree  set  in  the  midst  of  the  pines  where  only 
to  breathe  was  the  keenest  pleasure.  Stella  spoke 
almost  wistfully  of  this  place;  she  would  have 
loved  to  linger  there. 

"I  could  be  happy  there  in  perfect  solitude,"  she 
wrote,  "with  just  Peter  the  Great  to  take  care  of 
me."  She  mentioned  the  Sikh  bearer  more  than 
once  and  each  time  with  growing  affection.  ' '  He  is 
like  an  immense  and  kindly  watch-dog,"  she  said  in 
one  place.  ' '  Every  material  comfort  that  I  could 
possibly  wish  for  he  manages  somehow  to  procure, 
and  he  is  always  on  guard,  always  there  when 
wanted,  yet  never  in  the  way." 

Their  time  being  limited  and  Ralph  anxious  to 
use  it  to  the  utmost,  they  had  left  Murree  after 
a  very  brief  stay  and  pressed  on  into  Kashmir, 
travelling  in  a  tonga  through  the  most  glorious 
scenery  that  Stella  had  ever  beheld. 


The  Dream  49 

"I  only  wished  you  could  have  been  there  to 
enjoy  it  with  me,"  she  wrote,  and  passed  on  to 
a  glowing  description  of  the  Hills  amidst  which 
they  had  travelled,  all  grandly  beautiful  and  many 
capped  with  the  eternal  snows.  She  told  of  the 
River  Jhelum,  swift  and  splendid,  that  flowed  beside 
the  way,  of  the  flowers  that  bloomed  in  dazzling 
profusion  on  every  side — wild  roses  such  as  she  had 
never  dreamed  of,  purple  acacias,  jessamine  yellow 
and  white,  maiden-hair  ferns  that  hung  in  sprays  of 
living  green  over  the  rushing  waterfalls,  and  the 
vivid,  scarlet  pomegranate  blossom  that  grew  like 
a  spreading  fire. 

And  the  air  that  blew  through  the  mountains 
was  as  the  very  breath  of  life.  Physically,  she 
declared,  she  had  never  felt  so  well;  but  she  did 
not  speak  of  happiness,  and  again  Tommy's  brow 
contracted  as  he  read. 

For  all  its  enthusiasm,  there  was  to  him  some- 
thing wanting  in  that  letter — a  lack  that  hurt  him 
subtly.  Why  did  she  say  so  little  of  her  compan- 
ion in  the  wilderness?  No  casual  reader  would 
have  dreamed  that  the  narrative  had  been  written 
by  a  bride  upon  her  honeymoon. 

He  read  on,  read  of  their  journey  up  the  river  to 
Srinagar,  punted  by  native  boatmen,  and  again, 
as  she  spoke  of  their  sad,  droning  chant,  she 
compared  it  all  to  a  dream.  "I  wonder  if  I  am 
really  asleep,  Tommy, "  she  wrote,  "if  I  shall  wake 
up  in  the  middle  of  a  dark  night  and  find  that  I 
have  never  left  England  after  all.  That  is  what  I 


50        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

feel  like  sometimes — almost  as  if  life  had  been 
suspended  for  awhile.  This  strange  existence 
cannot  be  real.  I  am  sure  that  at  the  heart  of  me 
I  must  be  asleep." 

At  Srinagar,  a  native  fete  had  been  in  progress, 
and  the  howling  of  men  and  din  of  tom-toms  had 
somewhat  marred  the  harmony  of  their  arrival. 
But  it  was  all  interesting,  like  an  absorbing  fairy- 
tale, she  said,  but  quite  unreal.  She  felt  sure 
it  couldn't  be  true.  Ralph  had  been  disgusted 
with  the  hubbub  and  confusion.  He  compared  the 
place  to  an  asylum  of  filthy  lunatics,  and  they  had 
left  it  without  delay.  And  so  at  last  they  had 
come  to  their  present  abiding-place  in  the  heart  of 
the  wilderness  with  coolies,  pack-horses,  and  tents, 
and  were  camped  beside  a  rushing  stream  that 
filled  the  air  with  its  crystal  music  day  and  night. 
"And  this  is  Heaven,"  wrote  Stella;  "but  it  is  the 
Heaven  of  the  Orient,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  have 
any  part  or  lot  in  it.  I  believe  I  shall  feel  myself 
an  interloper  for  all  time.  I  dread  to  turn  each 
corner  lest  I  should  meet  the  Angel  with  the  Flam- 
ing Sword  and  be  driven  forth  into  the  desert.  If 
only  you  were  here,  Tommy,  it  would  be  more  real 
to  me.  But  Ralph  is  just  a  part  of  the  dream.  He 
is  almost  like  an  Eastern  potentate  himself  with 
his  endless  cigarettes  and  his  wonderful  capacity 
for  doing  nothing  all  day  long  without  being  bored. 
Of  course,  I  am  not  bored,  but  then  no  one  ever 
feels  bored  in  a  dream.  The  lazy  well-being  of  it 
all  has  the  effect  of  a  narcotic  so  far  as  I  am  con- 


The  Dream  51 

cerned.  I  cannot  imagine  ever  feeling  active 
in  this  lulling  atmosphere.  Perhaps  there  is  too 
much  champagne  in  the  air  and  I  am  never  wholly 
sober.  Perhaps  it  is  only  in  the  desert  that 
any  one  ever  lives  to  the  utmost.  The  endless 
singing  of  the  stream  is  hushing  me  into  a  sweet 
drowsiness  even  as  I  write.  By  the  way,  I  wonder 
if  I  have  written  sense.  If  not,  forgive  me!  But 
I  am  much  too  lazy  to  read  it  through.  I  think 
I  must  have  eaten  of  the  lotus.  Good-bye, 
Tommy  dear!  Write  when  you  can  and  tell  me 
that  all  is  well  with  you,  as  I  think  it  must  be — 
though  I  cannot  tell — with  vour  always  loving, 
though  for  the  moment  strangely  bewitched, 
sister,  Stella." 

Tommy  put  down  the  letter  and  lay  still,  peer- 
ing forth  under  frowning  brows.  He  could  hear 
Monck's  footsteps  coming  through  the  gate  of  the 
compound,  but  he  was  not  paying  any  attention 
to  Monck  for  once.  His  troubled  mind  scarcely 
even  registered  the  coming  of  his  friend. 

Only  when  the  latter  mounted  the  steps  on  to 
the  verandah  and  began  to  move  along  it,  did  he 
turn  his  head  and  realize  his  presence.  Monck 
came  to  a  stand  beside  him. 

"Well,  Tommy,"  he  said,  "isn't  it  time  to  turn 
in?" 

Tommy  sat  up.  "Oh,  I  suppose  so.  Infer- 
nally hot,  isn't  it?  I've  been  reading  Stella's 
letter." 

Monck  lodged  his  shoulder  against  the  window- 


52        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

frame.     ' '  I  hope  she  is  all  right, ' '  he  said  formally. 

His  voice  sounded  pre-occupied.  It  did  not 
convey  to  Tommy  the  idea  that  he  was  greatly 
interested  in  his  reply. 

He  answered  with  something  of  an  effort.  "I 
believe  she  is.  She  doesn't  really  say.  I  wish 
they  had  been  content  to  stay  at  Bhulwana.  I 
could  have  got  leave  to  go  over  and  see  her  there. " 

"Where  exactly  are  they  now?"  asked  Monck. 

Tommy  explained  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 
"Srinagar  seems  their  nearest  point  of  civilization. 
They  are  camping  in  the  wilderness,  but  they  will 
have  to  move  before  long.  Dacre's  leave  will  be 
up,  and  they  must  allow  time  to  get  back.  Stella 
talks  as  if  they  are  fixed  there  for  ever  and  ever." 

"She  is  enjoying  it  then?"  Monck's  voice  still 
sounded  as  if  he  were  thinking  of  something  else. 

Tommy  made  grudging  reply.  "I  suppose  she 
is,  after  a  fashion.  I'm  pretty  sure  of  one  thing.  " 
He  spoke  with  abrupt  force.  "She'd  enjoy  it  a 
deal  more  if  I  were  with  her  instead  of  Dacre." 

Monck  laughed,  a  curt,  dry  laugh.  "Jealous, 
eh?" 

"No,  I'm  not  such  a  fool."  The  boy  spoke 
recklessly.  ' '  But  I  know — I  can't  help  knowing — 
that  she  doesn't  care  twopence  about  the  man. 
What  woman  with  any  brains  could  ? " 

"There's  no  accounting  for  women's  tastes  or 
actions  at  any  time,"  said  Monck.  "She  liked 
him  well  enough  to  marry  him. " 

Tommy  made  an  indignant  sound.     "She  was 


The  Dream  53 

in  a  mood  to  marry  any  one.  She'd  probably  have 
married  you  if  you'd  asked  her." 

Monck  made  an  abrupt  movement  as  if  he  had 
lost  his  balance,  but  he  returned  to  his  former 
position  immediately.  "Think  so?"  he  said  in  a 
voice  that  sounded  very  ironical.  "Then  possibly 
she  has  had  a  lucky  escape.  I  might  have  been 
moved  to  ask  her  if  she  had  remained  free  much 
longer." 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  you  had!"  said  Tommy 
bluntly. 

And  again  Monck  uttered  his  short,  sardonic 
laugh.  "Thank  you,  Tommy,"  he  said. 

There  fell  a  silence  between  them,  and  a  hot 
draught  eddied  up  through  the  parched  compound 
and  rattled  the  scorched  twigs  of  the  creeping  rose 
on  the  verandah  with  a  desolate  sound,  as  if  skele- 
ton hands  were  feeling  along  the  trellis-work. 
Tommy  suppressed  a  shudder  and  got  to  his  feet. 

In  the  same  moment  Monck  spoke  again, 
deliberately,  emotionlessly,  with  a  hint  of  grim- 
ness.  "By  the  way,  Tommy,  I've  a  piece  of  news 
for  you.  That  letter  I  had  from  my  brother  this 
evening  contained  news  of  an  urgent  business 
matter  which  only  I  can  deal  with.  It  has  come  at 
a  rather  unfortunate  moment  as  Barnes,  the  police- 
man, brought  some  disturbing  information  this 
evening  from  Khanmulla  and  the  Chief  wanted  to 
make  use  of  me  in  that  quarter.  They  are  sending 
a  Mission  to  make  investigations  and  they  wanted 
me  to  go  in  charge  of  it." 


54        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Oh,  man!"  Tommy's  eyes  suddenly  shone  with 
enthusiasm.  ' '  What  a  chance ! ' ' 

"A  chance  I'm  not  going  to  take,"  rejoined 
Monck  dryly.  "I  applied  for  leave  instead.  In 
any  case  it  is  due  to  me,  but  Dacre  had  his  turn 
first.  The  Chief  didn't  want  to  grant  it,  but  he 
gave  way  in  the  end.  You  boys  will  have  to  work 
a  little  harder  than  usual,  that's  all." 

Tommy  was  staring  at  him  in  amazement 
"But,  I  say,  Monck!"  he  protested.  "That 
Mission  business !  It's  the  very  thing  you'd  most 
enjoy.  Surely  you  can't  be  going  to  let  such  an 
opportunity  slip ! " 

"My  own  business  is  more  pressing,"  Monck 
returned  briefly. 

Then  Tommy  remembered  the  stricken  look  that 
he  had  surprised  on  his  friend's  face  that  evening, 
and  swift  concern  swallowed  his  astonishment. 
"You  had  bad  news  from  Home!  I  say,  I'm 
awfully  sorry.  Is  your  brother  ill,  or  what  ? " 

"No.  It's  not  that.  I  can't  discuss  it  with 
you,  Tommy.  But  I've  got  to  go.  The  Chief 
has  granted  me  eight  weeks  and  I  am  off  at  dawn." 
Monck  made  as  if  he  would  turn  inwards  with  the 
words. 

"You're  going  Home?"  ejaculated  Tommy. 
"By  Jove,  old  fellow,  it'll  be  quick  work. "  Then, 
his  sympathy  coming  uppermost  again,  "I  say, 
I'm  confoundedly  sorry.  You'll  take  care  of 
yourself?" 

"Oh,  every  care."     Monck  paused  to  lay  •an 


The  Dream  55 

unexpected  hand  upon  the  lad's  shoulder.  "And 
you  must  take  care  of  yourself,  Tommy, "  he  said. 
"Don't  get  up  to  any  tomfoolery  while  I  am  away ! 
And  if  you  get  thirsty,  stick  to  lime-juice!" 

"I'll  be  as  good  as  gold,"  Tommy  promised, 
touched  alike  by  action  and  admonition.  "But  it 
will  be  pretty  beastly  without  you.  I  hate  a  lonely 
life,  and  Stella  will  be  stuck  at  Bhulwana  for  the 
rest  of  the  hot  weather  when  they  get  back." 

"Well,  I  shan't  stay  away  for  ever,"  Monck 
patted  his  shoulder  and  turned  away.  "I'm  not 
going  for  a  pleasure  trip,  and  the  sooner  it's  over, 
the  better  I  shall  be  pleased." 

He  passed  into  the  room  with  the  words,  that 
room  in  which  Stella  had  sat  on  her  wedding-eve, 
gazing  forth  into  the  night.  And  there  came  to 
Tommy,  all-unbidden,  a  curious,  wandering  mem- 
ory of  his  friend's  face  on  that  same  night,  with 
eyes  alight  and  ardent,  looking  upwards  as  though 
they  saw  a  vision.  Perplexed  and  vaguely  trou- 
bled, he  thrust  her  letter  away  into  his  pocket 
and  went  to  his  own  room. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  GARDEN 

THE  Heaven  of  the  Orient/  It  was  a  week 
since  Stella  had  penned  those  words,  and  still  the 
charm  held  her,  the  wonder  grew.  Never  in  her 
life  had  she  dreamed  of  a  land  so  perfect,  so  subtly 
alluring,  so  overwhelmingly  full  of  enchantment. 
Day  after  day  slipped  by  in  what  seemed  an  end- 
less succession.  Night  followed  magic  night,  and 
the  spell  wound  closer  and  ever  closer  about  her. 
She  sometimes  felt  as  if  her  very  individuality 
were  being  absorbed  into  the  marvellous  beauty 
about  her,  as  if  she  had  been  crystallized  by  it 
and  must  soon  cease  to  be  in  any  sense  a  being 
apart  from  it. 

The  siren-music  of  the  torrent  that  dashed 
below  their  camping-ground  filled  her  brain  day 
and  night.  It  seemed  to  make  active  thought 
impossible,  to  dull  all  her  senses  save  the  one 
luxurious  sense  of  enjoyment.  That  was  always 
present,  slumbrous,  almost  cloying  in  its  unfailing 
sweetness,  the  fruit  of  the  lotus  which  assuredly 
she  was  eating  day  by  day.  All  her  nerves  seemed 
56 


The  Garden  57 

dormant,  all  her  energies  lulled.  Sometimes  she 
wondered  if-  the  sound  of  running  water  had  this 
stultifying  effect  upon  her,  for  wherever  they  went 
it  followed  them.  The  snow-fed  streams  ran 
everywhere,  and  since  leaving  Srinagar  she  could 
not  remember  a  single  occasion  on  which  they 
had  been  out  of  earshot  of  their  perpetual  music. 
It  haunted  her  like  a  ceaseless  refrain,  but  yet  she 
never  wearied  of  it.  There  was  no  thought  of 
weariness  in  this  mazed,  dream-world  of  hers. 

At  the  beginning  of  her  married  life,  so  far  be- 
hind her  now  that  she  scarcely  remembered  it,  she 
had  gone  through  pangs  of  suffering  and  fierce 
regret.  Her  whole  nature  had  revolted,  and  it 
had  taken  all  her  strength  to  quell  it.  But  that 
was  long,  long  past.  She  had  ceased  to  feel  any- 
thing now,  but  a  dumb  and  even  placid  acquiesc- 
ence in  this  lethargic  existence,  and  Ralph  Dacre 
was  amply  satisfied  therewith.  He  had  always 
been  abundantly  confident  of  his  power  to  secure 
her  happiness,  and  he  was  blissfully  unconscious 
of  the  wild  impulse  to  rebellion  which  she  had 
barely  stifled.  He  had  no  desire  to  sound  the 
deeps  of  her.  He  was  quite  content  with  life  as 
he  found  it,  content  to  share  with  her  the  dreamy 
pleasures  that  lay  in  this  fruitful  wilderness,  and 
to  look  not  beyond. 

He  troubled  himself  but  little  about  the  future, 
though  when  he  thought  of  it  that  was  with 
pleasure  too.  He  liked,  now  and  then,  to  look 
forward  to  the  days  that  were  coming  when  Stella 


58        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

would  shine  as  a  queen — his  queen — among  an 
envious  crowd.  Her  position  assured  as  his  wife, 
even  Lady  Harriet  herself  would  have  to  lower  her 
flag.  And  how  little  Netta  Ermsted  would  grit 
her  teeth!  He  laughed  to  himself  whenever  he 
thought  of  that.  Netta  had  become  too  uppish  of 
late.  It  would  be  amusing  to  see  how  she  took 
her  lesson. 

And  as  for  his  brother-officers,  even  the  taci- 
turn Monck  had  already  shown  that  he  was  not 
proof  against  Stella's  charms.  He  wondered  what 
Stella  thought  of  the  man,  well  knowing  that  few 
women  liked  him,  and  one  evening,  as  they  sat 
together  in  the  scented  darkness  with  the  roar 
of  their  mountain-stream  filling  the  silences,  he 
turned  their  fitful  conversation  in  Monck's  direc- 
tion to  satisfy  his  lazy  curiosity  in  this  respect. 

"I  suppose  I  ought  to  write  to  the  fellow,"  he 
said,  "but  if  you've  written  to  Tommy  it's  almost 
the  same  thing.  Besides,  I  don't  suppose  he  would 
be  in  the  smallest  degree  interested.  He  would 
only  be  bored." 

There  was  a  pause  before  Stella  answered;  but 
she  was  often  slow  of  speech  in  those  days.  "I 
thought  you  were  friends,"  she  said. 

' '  What  ?  Oh,  so  we  are. ' '  Ralph  Dacre  laughed, 
his  easy,  complacent  laugh.  "But  he's  a  dark 
horse,  you  know.  I  never  know  quite  how  to 
take  him.  Your  brother  Tommy  is  a  deal  more 
intimate  with  him  than  I  am,  though  I  have 
stabled  with  him  for  over  four  years.  He's  a  very 


The  Garden  59 

clever  fellow,  there's  no  doubt  of  that — altogether 
too  brainy  for  my  taste.  Clever  fellows  al- 
ways bore  me.  Now  I  wonder  how  he  strikes 
you." 

Again  there  was  that  slight  pause  before  Stella 
spoke,  but  there  was  nothing  very  vital  about  it. 
She  seemed  to  be  slow  in  bringing  her  mind  to 
bear  upon  the  subject.  "I  agree  with  you,"  she 
said  then.  "He  is  clever.  And  he  is  kind  too. 
He  has  been  very  good  to  Tommy." 

"Tommy  would  lie  down  and  let  him  walk  over 
him,"  remarked  Dacre.  "Perhaps  that  is  what 
he  likes.  But  he's  a  cold-blooded  sort  of  cuss. 
I  don't  believe  he  has  a  spark  of  real  affection  for 
anybody.  He  is  too  ambitious." 

"Is  he  ambitious?"  Stella's  voice  sounded 
rather  weary,  wholly  void  of  interest. 

Dacre  inhaled  a  deep  breath  of  cigar-smoke  and 
puffed  it  slowly  forth.  His  curiosity  was  warm- 
ing. "Oh  yes,  ambitious  as  they're  made.  Those 
strong,  silent  chaps  always  are.  And  there's  no 
doubt  he  will  make  his  mark  some  day.  He  is  a 
positive  marvel  at  languages.  And  he  dabbles  in 
Secret  Service  matters  too,  disguises  himself  and 
goes  among  the  natives  in  the  bazaars  as  one  of 
themselves.  A  fellow  like  that,  you  know,  is 
simply  priceless  to  the  Government.  And  he  is 
as  tough  as  leather.  The  climate  never  touches 
him.  He  could  sit  on  a  grille  and  be  happy.  No 
doubt  he  will  be  a  very  big  pot  some  day."  He 
tipped  the  ash  from  his  cigar.  "You  and  I  will 


60        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

be  comfortably  growing  old  in  a  villa  at  Chelten- 
ham by  that  time,  "  he  ended. 

A  little  shiver  went  through  Stella.  She  said 
nothing  and  silence  fell  between  them  again. 
The  moon  was  rising  behind  a  rugged  line  of  snow- 
hills  across  the  valley,  touching  them  here  and 
there  with  a  silvery  radiance,  casting  mysterious 
shadows  all  about  them,  sending  a  magic  twilight 
over  the  whole  world  so  that  they  saw  it  dimly, 
as  through  a  luminous  veil. .  The  scent  of  Dacre's 
cigar  hung  in  the  air,  fragrant,  aromatic,  Eastern. 
He  was  sleepily  watching  his  wife's  pure  profile 
as  she  gazed  into  her  world  of  dreams.  It  was 
evident  that  she  took  small  interest  in  Monck 
and  his  probable  career.  It  was  net  surprising. 
Monck  was  not  the  sort  of  man  to  attract  women ; 
he  cared  so  little  about  them — this  silent  watcher 
whose  eyes  were  ever  searching  below  the  surface 
of  Eastern  life,  who  studied  and  read  and  knew 
so  much  more  than  any  one  else  and  yet  who 
guarded  knowledge  and  methods  so  closely  that 
only  those  in  contact  with  his  daily  life  suspected 
what  he  hid. 

"He  will  surprise  us  all  some  day,"  Dacre 
placidly  reflected.  ' '  Those  quiet,  ambitious  chaps 
always  soar  high.  But  I  wouldn't  change  places 
with  him  even  if  he  wins  to  the  top  of  the  tree. 
People  who  make  a  specialty  of  hard  work  never 
get  any  fun  out  of  anything.  By  the  time  the  fun 
comes  along,  they  are  too  old  to  enjoy  it." 

And  so  he  lay  at  ease  in  his  chair,  feasting  his 


The  Garden  61 

eyes  upon  his  young  wife's  grave  face,  savouring 
life  with  the  zest  of  the  epicurean,  placidly  at 
peace  with  all  the  world  on  that  night  of  dreams. 

It  was  growing  late,  and  the  moon  had  topped 
the  distant  peaks  sending  a  flood  of  light  across  the 
sleeping  valley  before  he  finally  threw  away  the 
stump  of  his  cigar  and  stretched  forth  a  lazy  arm 
to  draw  her  to  him. 

"Why  so  silent,  Star  of  my  heart?  Where  are 
those  wandering  thoughts  of  yours?" 

She  submitted  as  usual  to  his  touch,  passively, 
without  enthusiasm.  "My  thoughts  are  not 
worth  expressing,  Ralph, "  she  said. 

"Let  us  hear  them  all  the  same!"  he  said, 
laying  his  head  against  her  shoulder. 

She  sat  very  still  in  his  hold.  "I  was  only 
watching  the  moonlight,"  she  said.  "Somehow 
it  made  me  think — of  a  flaming  sword." 

"Turning  all  ways?"  he  suggested,  indolently 
humorous.  "Not  driving  us  forth  out  of  the 
garden  of  Eden,  I  hope?  That  would  be  a  little 
hard  on  two  such  inoffensive  mortals  as  we  are, 
eh,  sweetheart?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said  seriously.  "I  doubt 
if  the  plea  of  inoffensiveness  would  open  the  gates 
of  Heaven  to  any  one." 

He  laughed.  "I  can't  talk  ethics  at  this  time 
of  night,  Star  of  my  heart.  It's  time  we  went 
to  our  lair.  I  believe  you  would  sit  here  till  sun- 
rise if  I  would  let  you,  you  most  ethereal  of  women. 
Do  you  ever  think  of  your  body  at  all,  I  wonder?" 


62         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  kissed  her  neck  with  the  careless  words,  and 
a  quick  shiver  went  through  her.  She  made  a 
slight,  scarcely  perceptible  movement  to  free 
herself. 

But  the  next  moment  sharply,  almost  con- 
vulsively, she  grasped  his  arm.  "Ralph!  What 
is  that?" 

She  was  gazing  towards  the  shadow  cast  by  a 
patch  of  flowering  azalea  in  the  moonlight  about 
ten  yards  from  where  they  sat.  Dacre  raised 
himself  with  leisurely  self-assurance  and  peered 
in  the  same  direction.  It  was  not  his  nature  to 
be  easily  disturbed. 

But  Stella's  hand  still  clung  to  his  arm,  and 
there  was  agitation  in  her  hold.  "What  is  it?" 
she  whispered.  "What  can  it  be?  I  have  seen  it 
move — twice.  Ah,  look !  Is  it — is  it — a  panther  ? ' ' 

"Good  gracious,  child,  no!"  Carelessly  he 
made  response,  and  with  the  words  disengaged 
himself  from  her  hand  and  stood  up.  "It's  more 
probably  some  filthy  old  beggar  who  fondly  thinks 
he  is  going  to  get  backsheesh  for  disturbing  us. 
You  stay  here  while  I  go  and  investigate!" 

But  some  nervous  impulse  goaded  Stella.  She 
also  started  up,  holding  him  back.  ' '  Oh,  don't  go, 
Ralph!  Don't  go!  Call  one  of  the  men!  Call 
Peter!" 

He  laughed  at  her  agitation.  "My  dear  girl, 
don't  be  absurd!  I  don't  want  Peter  to  help 
me  kick  a  beastly  native.  In  fact  he  probably 
wouldn't  lower  himself  to  do  such  a  thing." 


The  Garden  63 

But  still  she  clung  to  him.  "Ralph,  don't  go! 
Please  don't  go !  I  have  a  feeling — I  am  afraid — 
I — "  She  broke  off  panting,  her  fingers  tightly 
clutching  his  sleeve.  "Don't  go!"  she  reiterated. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her.  "My  dear,  what 
do  you  think  a  tatterdemalion  gipsy  is  going  to  do 
to  me?  He  may  be  a  snake-charmer,  and  if  so 
the  sooner  he  is  got  rid  of  the  better.  There! 
What  did  I  tell  you?  He  is  coming  out  of  his 
corner.  Now,  don't  be  frightened!  It  doesn't 
do  to  show  funk  to  these  people." 

He  held  her  closely  to  him  and  waited.  Beside 
the  flowering  azalea  something  was  undoubtedly 
moving,  and  as  they  stood  and  watched,  a  strange 
figure  slowly  detached  itself  from  the  shadows 
and  crept  towards  them.  It  was  clad  in  native 
garments  and  shuffled  along  in  a  bent  attitude  as 
if  deformed.  Stella  stiffened  as  she  stood.  There 
was  something  unspeakably  repellent  to  her  in  its 
toadlike  advance. 

"Make  one  of  the  men  send  him  away!"  she 
whispered  urgently.  "Please  do!  It  may  be  a 
snake-charmer  as  you  say.  He  moves  like  a 
reptile  himself.  And  I — abhor  snakes." 

But  Dacre  stood  his  ground.  He  felt  none  of 
her  shrinking  horror  of  the  bowed,  misshapen 
creature  approaching  them.  In  fact  he  was  only 
curious  to  see  how  far  a  Kashmiri  beggar's  audacity 
would  carry  him. 

Within  half  a  dozen  paces  of  them,  in  the  full 
moonlight,  the  shambling  figure  halted  and  sa- 


64        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

laamed  with  clawlike  hands  extended.  His  de- 
formity bent  him  almost  double,  but  he  was  so 
muffled  in  rags  that  it  was  difficult  to  discern  any 
tangible  human  shape  at  all.  A  tangled  black 
beard  hung  wisplike  from  the  dirty  chuddah  that 
draped  his  head,  and  above  it  two  eyes,  fevered 
and  furtive,  peered  strangely  forth. 

The  salaam  completed,  the  intruder  straight- 
ened himself  as  far  as  his  infirmity  would  permit, 
and  in  a  moment  spoke  in  the  weak  accents  of  an 
old,  old  man.  "Will  his  most  gracious  excellency 
be  pleased  to  permit  one  who  is  as  the  dust  beneath 
his  feet  to  speak  in  his  presence  words  which  only 
he  may  hear?" 

It  was  the  whine  of  the  Hindu  beggar,  halting, 
supplicatory,  almost  revoltingly  servile.  Stella 
shuddered  with  disgust.  The  whole  episode  was 
so  utterly  out  of  place  in  that  moonlit  paradise. 
But  Dacre's  curiosity  was  evidently  aroused.  To 
her  urgent  whisper  to  send  the  man  away  he 
paid  no  heed.  Some  spirit  of  perversity — or  was 
it  the  hand  of  Fate  upon  him? — made  him  be- 
stow his  supercilious  attention  upon  the  cringing 
visitor. 

"Speak  away,  you  son  of  a  centipede!"  he 
made  kindly  rejoinder.  "I  am  all  ears — the 
mem-sahib  also." 

The  man  waved  a  skinny,  protesting  arm. 
"Only  his  most  gracious  excellency!"  he  insisted, 
seeming  to  utter  the  words  through  parched  lips. 
"Will  not  his  excellency  deign  to  give  his  un- 


The  Garden  65 

worthy  servant  one  precious  moment  that  he 
may  speak  in  the  august  one's  ear  alone?" 

"This  is  highly  mysterious, "  commented  Dacre. 
"I  think  I  shall  have  to  find  out  what  he  wants, 
eh,  Stella?  His  information  may  be  valuable." 

"Oh,  do  send  him  away!"  Stella  entreated. 
"I  am  not  used  to  these  natives.  They  frighten 
me." 

"My  dear  child,  what  nonsense!"  laughed 
Dacre.  "What  harm  do  you  imagine  a  doddering 
old  fool  like  this  could  do  to  any  one  ?  If  I  were 
Monck,  I  should  invite  him  to  join  the  party. 
Not  being  Monck,  I  propose  to  hear  what  he  has 
to  say  and  then  kick  him  out.  You  run  along  to 
bed,  dear!  I'll  soon  settle  him  and  follow  you. 
Don't  be  uneasy!  There  is  really  no  need." 

He  kissed  her  lightly  with  the  words,  flattered 
by  her  evident  anxiety  on  his  behalf  though  fully 
determined  to  ignore  it. 

Stella  turned  beside  him  in  silence,  aware  that 
he  could  be  immovably  obstinate  when  once  his 
mind  was  made  up.  But  the  feeling  of  dread 
remained  upon  her.  In  some  fantastic  fashion 
the  beauty  of  the  night  had  become  marred,  as 
though  evil  spirits  were  abroad.  For  the  first 
time  she  wanted  to  keep  her  husband  at  her  side. 

But  it  was  useless  to  protest.  She  was  moreover 
half-ashamed  herself  at  her  uneasiness,  and  his 
treatment  of  it  stung  her  into  the  determination 
to  dismiss  it.  She  parted  with  him  before  their 
tent  with  no  further  sign  of  reluctance. 


66        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  on  his  part  kissed  her  in  his  usual  volup- 
tuous fashion.  "Good-night,  darling!"  he  said 
lightly.  "  Don't  lie  awake  for  me !  When  I  have 
got  rid  of  this  old  Arabian  Nights  sinner,  I  may 
have  another  smoke.  But  don't  get  impatient! 
I  shan't  be  late." 

She  withdrew  herself  from  him  almost  with 
coldness.  Had  she  ever  been  impatient  for  his 
coming?  She  entered  the  tent  proudly,  her  head 
high.  But  the  moment  she  was  alone,  reaction 
came.  She  stood  with  her  hands  gripped  together, 
fighting  the  old  intolerable  misgiving  that  even 
the  lulling  magic  all  around  her  had  never  suc- 
ceeded in  stilling.  What  was  she  doing  in  this 
garden  of  delights  with  a  man  she  did  not  love? 
Had  she  not  entered  as  it  were  by  stealth  ?  How 
long  would  it  be  before  her  presence  was  discovered 
and  she  thrust  forth  into  the  outermost  darkness 
in  shame  and  bitterness  of  soul? 

Another  thought  was  struggling  at  the  back  of 
her  mind,  but  she  held  it  firmly  there.  Never 
once  had  she  suffered  it  to  take  full  possession  of 
her.  It  belonged  to  that  other  life  which  she  had 
found  too  hard  to  endure.  Vain  regrets  and  futile 
longings — she  would  have  none  of  them.  She 
had  chosen  her  lot,  she  would  abide  by  the  choice. 
Yes,  and  she  would  do  her  duty  also,  whatever  it 
might  entail.  Ralph  should  never  know,  never 
dimly  suspect.  And  that  other — he  would  never 
know  either.  His  had  been  but  a  passing  fancy. 
He  trod  the  way  of  ambition,  and  there  was  no 


The  Garden  67 

room  in  his  life  for  anything  besides.  If  she  had 
shown  him  her  heart,  it  had  been  but  a  momentary 
glimpse;  and  he  had  forgotten  already.  She  was 
sure  he  had  forgotten.  And  she  had  desired  that 
he  should  forget.  He  had  penetrated  her  strong- 
hold indeed,  but  it  was  only  as  it  were  the  outer 
defences  that  had  fallen.  He  had  not  reached 
the  inner  fort.  No  man  would  ever  reach  that 
now — certainly,  most  certainly,  not  the  man  to 
whom  she  had  given  herself.  And  to  none  other 
would  the  chance  be  offered. 

No,  she  was  secure;  she  was  secure.  She 
guarded  her  heart  from  all.  And  she  could  not 
suffer  deeply — so  she  told  herself — so  long  as  she 
kept  it  close.  Yet,  as  the  wonder-music  of  the 
torrent  lulled  her  to  sleep,  a  face  she  knew,  dark, 
strong,  full  of  silent  purpose,  rose  before  her  inner 
vision  and  would  not  be  driven  forth.  What  was 
he  doing  to-night?  Was  he  wandering  about 
the  bazaars  in  some  disguise,  learning  the  secrets 
of  that  strange  native  India  that  had  drawn  him 
into  her  toils?  She  tried  to  picture  that  hidden 
life  of  his,  but  could  not.  The  keen,  steady  eyes, 
set  in  that  calm,  emotionless  face,  held  her  per- 
sistently, defeating  imagination.  Of  one  thing 
only  was  she  certain.  He  might  baffle  others,  but 
by  no  amount  of  ingenuity  could  he  ever  deceive 
her.  She  would  recognize  him  in  a  moment  what- 
ever his  disguise.  She  was  sure  that  she  would 
know  him.  Those  grave,  unflinching  eyes  would 
surely  give  him  away  to  any  who  really  knew  him. 


68         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

So  ran  her  thoughts  on  that  night  of  magic  till 
at  last  sleep  came,  and  the  vision  faded.  The  last 
thing  she  knew  was  a  memory  that  awoke  and 
mocked  her — the  sound  of  a  low  voice  that  in 
spite  of  herself  she  had  to  hear. 

"I  was  waiting,"  said  the  voice,  "till  my  turn 
should  come." 

With  a  sharp  pang  she  cast  the  memory  from 
her — and  slept. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  GARDEN 

"Now,  you  old  sinner!  Let's  hear  your  valu- 
able piece  of  information!"  Carelessly  Ralph 
Dacre  sauntered  forth  again  into  the  moonlight 
and  confronted  the  tatterdemalion  figure  of  his 
visitor. 

The  contrast  between  them  was  almost  fantastic 
so  strongly  did  the  arrogance  of  the  one  emphasize 
the  deep  abasement  of  the  other.  Dacre  was  of 
large  build  and  inclined  to  stoutness.  He  had 
the  ruddy  complexion  of  the  English  country 
squire.  He  moved  with  the  swagger  of  the  con- 
quering race. 

The  man  who  cringed  before  him,  palsied,  mis- 
shapen, a  mere  wreck  of  humanity,  might  have 
been  a  being  from  another  sphere — some  under- 
world of  bizarre  creatures  that  crawled  purblind 
among  shadows. 

He  salaamed  again  profoundly  in  response  to 
Dacre's  contemptuous  words,  nearly  rubbing  his 
forehead  upon  the  ground.  "His  most  noble 
excellency  is  pleased  to  be  gracious,"  he  murmured. 
"  If  he  will  deign  to  follow  his  miserably  unworthy 
69 


70         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

servant  up  the  goat-path  where  none  may  over- 
hear, he  will  speak  his  message  and  depart." 

"Oh,  it's  a  message,  is  it?"  With  a  species  of 
scornful  tolerance  Dacre  turned  towards  the  path 
indicated.  "Well,  lead  on!  I'm  not  coming  far 
— no,  not  for  untold  wealth.  Nor  am  I  going  to 
waste  much  time  over  you.  I  have  better  things 
to  do." 

The  old  man  turned  also  with  a  cringing  move- 
ment. "Only  a  little  way,  most  noble!"  he  said 
in  his  thin,  cracked  voice.  "Only  a  little  way!" 

Hobbling  painfully,  he  began  the  ascent  in 
front  of  the  strolling  Englishman.  The  path  ran 
steeply  up  between  close-growing  shrubs,  follow- 
ing the  winding  of  the  torrent  far  below.  In 
places  the  hillside  was  precipitous  and  the  roar 
of  the  stream  rose  louder  as  it  dashed  among  its 
rocks.  The  heavy  scent  of  the  azalea  flowers 
hung  like  incense  everywhere,  mingling  aromat- 
ically  with  the  smoke  from  Dacre's  newly  lighted 
cigar. 

With  his  hands  in  his  pockets  he  followed  his 
guide  with  long,  easy  strides.  The  ascent  was 
nothing  to  him,  and  the  other's  halting  progress 
brought  a  smile  of  contemptuous  pity  to  his  lips. 
What  did  the  old  rascal  expect  to  gain  from  the 
interview  he  wondered? 

Up  and  up  the  narrow  path  they  went,  till  at 
length  a  small  natural  platform  in  the  shoulder 
of  the  hill  was  reached,  and  here  the  ragged 
creature  in  front  of  Dacre  paused  and  turned. 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden      71 

The  moonlight  smote  full  upon  him,  revealing 
him  in  every  repulsive  detail.  His  eyes  burned 
in  their  red-rimmed  sockets  as  he  lifted  them. 
But  he  did  not  speak  even  after  the  careless 
saunter  of  the  Englishman  had  ceased  at  his  side. 
The  dash  of  the  stream  far  below  rose  up  like  the 
muffled  roar  of  a  train  in  a  tunnel.  The  bed  of  it 
was  very  narrow  at  that  point  and  the  current 
swift. 

For  a  moment  or  two  Dacre  stood  waiting,  the 
cigar  still  between  his  lips,  his  eyes  upon  the 
gleaming  caps  of  the  snow-hills  far  away.  But 
very  soon  the  spell  of  them  fell  from  him.  It  was 
not  his  nature  to  remain  silent  for  long. 

With  his  easy,  superior  laugh  he  turned  and 
looked  his  motionless  companion  up  and  down. 
"Well?"  he  said.  "Have  you  brought  me  here 
to  admire  the  view?  Very  fine  no  doubt;  but  I 
could  have  done  it  without  your  guidance." 

There  was  no  immediate  reply  to  his  carelessly 
flung  query,  and  faint  curiosity  arose  within  him 
mingling  with  his  strong  contempt.  He  pulled  a 
hand  out  of  his  pocket  and  displayed  a  few  annas 
in  his  palm. 

"Well?"  he  said  again.  "What  may  this 
valuable  piece  of  information  be  worth?" 

The  other  made  an  abrupt  movement;  it  was 
almost  as  if  he  curbed  some  savage  impulse  to 
violence.  He  moved  back  a  pace,  and  there  in 
the  moonlight  before  Dacre's  insolent  gaze — he 
changed. 


72         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

With  a  deep  breath  he  straightened  himself  to  the 
height  of  a  tall  man.  The  bent  contorted  limbs 
became  lithe  and  strong.  The  cringing  humility 
slipped  from  him  like  a  garment.  He  stood  upright 
and  faced  Ralph  Dacre — a  man  in  the  prime  of  life. 

"That,"  he  said,  "is  a  matter  of  opinion.  So 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  it  has  cost  a  damned  un- 
comfortable journey.  But — it  will  probably  cost 
you  more  than  that." 

"Great — Jupiter!"  said  Dacre. 

He  stood  and  stared  and  stared.  The  curt 
speech,  the  almost  fiercely  contemptuous  bearing, 
the  absolute,  unwavering  assurance  of  this  man 
whom  but  a  moment  before  he  had  so  arrogantly 
trampled  underfoot  sent  through  him  such  a 
shock  of  amazement  as  nearly  deprived  him  of  the 
power  to  think.  Perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life  he  was  utterly  and  completely  at  a  loss.  Only 
as  he  gazed  at  the  man  before  him,  there  came 
upon  him,  sudden  as  a  blow,  the  memory  of  a 
certain  hot  day  more  than  a  year  before  when  he 
and  Everard  Monck  had  wrestled  together  in  the 
Club  gymnasium  for  the  benefit  of  a  little  crowd 
of  subalterns  who  had  eagerly  betted  upon  the 
result.  It  had  been  sinew  versus  weight,  and 
after  a  tough  struggle  sinew  had  prevailed.  He 
remembered  the  unpleasant  sensation  of  defeat 
even  now  though  he  had  had  the  grit  to  take  it 
like  a  man  and  get  up  laughing.  It  was  one  of  the 
very  few  occasions  he  could  remember  upon  which 
he  had  been  worsted. 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden      73 

But  now — to-night — he  was  face  to  face  with 
something  of  an  infinitely  more  serious  nature. 
This  man  with  the  stern,  accusing  eyes  and 
wholly  merciless  attitude — what  had  he  come  to 
say?  An  odd  sensation  stirred  at  Dacre's  heart  like 
an  unsteady  hand  knocking  for  admittance.  There 
was  something  wrong  here — something  wrong. 

"You — madman!"  he  said  at  length,  and  with 
the  words  pulled  himself  together  with  a  giant 
effort.  "What  in  the  name  of  wonder  are  you 
doing  here?"  He  had  bitten  his  cigar  through 
in  his  astonishment,  and  he  tossed  it  away  as 
he  spoke  with  a  gesture  of  returning  confidence. 
He  silenced  the  uneasy  foreboding  within  and 
met  the  hard  eyes  that  confronted  him  without 
discomfiture.  "What's  your  game?"  he  said. 
"You  have  come  to  tell  me  something,  I  suppose. 
But  why  on  earth  couldn't  you  write  it?" 

"The  written  word  is  not  always  effectual," 
the  other  man  said. 

He  put  up  a  hand  abruptly  and  stripped  the 
ragged  hair  from  his  face,  pushing  back  the  heavy 
folds  of  the  chuddah  that  enveloped  his  head  as  he 
did  so.  His  features  gleamed  in  the  moonlight, 
lean  and  brown,  unmistakably  British. 

"Monck!"  said  Dacre,  in  the  tone  of  one  verify- 
ing a  suspicion. 

4 '  Yes — Monck. ' '  Grimly  the  other  repeated  the 
name.  "I've  had  considerable  trouble  in  follow- 
ing you  here.  I  shouldn't  have  taken  it  if  I  hadn't 
had  a  very  urgent  reason." 


74        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Well,  what  the  devil  is  it?"  Dacre  spoke 
with  the  exasperation  of  a  man  who  knows  himself 
to  be  at  a  disadvantage.  "If  you  want  to  know 
my  opinion,  I  regard  such  conduct  as  damned 
intrusive  at  such  a  time.  But  if  you've  any 
decent  excuse  let's  hear  it!" 

He  had  never  adopted  that  tone  to  Monck 
before,  but  he  had  been  rudely  jolted  out  of  his 
usually  complacent  attitude,  and  he  resented 
Monck's  presence.  Moreover,  an  unpleasant  sense 
of  inferiority  had  begun  to  make  itself  felt.  There 
was  something  judicial  about  Monck — something 
inexorable  and  condemnatory — something  that 
aroused  in  him  every  instinct  of  self-defence. 

But  Monck  met  his  blustering  demand  with  the 
utmost  calm.  It  was  as  if  he  held  him  in  a  grip 
of  iron  intention  from  which  no  struggles,  however 
desperate,  could  set  him  free. 

He  took  an  envelope  from  the  folds  of  his  ragged 
raiment.  "I  believe  you  have  heard  me  speak 
of  my  brother  Bernard,"  he  said,  "chaplain  of 
Charthurst  Prison." 

Dacre  nodded.  "The  fellow  who  writes  to  you 
every  month.  Well  ?  What  of  him  ? ' ' 

Monck's  steady  fingers  detached  and  unfolded 
a  letter.  "You  had  better  read  for  yourself," 
he  said,  and  held  it  out. 

But  curiously  Dacre  hung  back  as  if  unwilling 
to  touch  it. 

"Can't  you  tell  me  what  all  the  fuss  is  about?" 
he  said  irritably. 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden      75 

Monck's  hand  remained  inflexibly  extended. 
He  spoke,  a  jarring  note  in  his  voice.  "Oh 
yes,  I  can  tell  you.  But  you  had  better  see  for 
yourself  too.  It  concerns  you  very  nearly.  It 
was  written  in  Charthurst  Prison  nearly  six 
weeks  ago,  where  a  woman  who  calls  herself  your 
wife  is  undergoing  a  term  of  imprisonment  for 
forgery." 

' '  Damnation ! ' '  Ralph  Dacre  actually  staggered 
as  if  he  had  received  a  blow  between  the  eyes. 
But  almost  in  the  next  moment  he  recovered  him- 
self, and  uttered  a  quivering  laugh.  "Man  alive! 
You  are  not  fool  enough  to  believe  such  a  cock- 
and-bull  story  as  that!"  he  said.  "And  you  have 
come  all  this  way  in  this  fancy  get-up  to  tell  me! 
You  must  be  mad!" 

Monck  was  still  holding  out  the  letter.  "You 
had  better  see  for  yourself,"  he  reiterated.  "It 
is  damnably  circumstantial." 

' '  I  tell  you  it's  an  infernal  lie ! "  flung  back  Dacre 
furiously.  "There  is  no  woman  on  this  earth 
who  has  any  claim  on  me — except  Stella.  Why 
should  I  read  it?  I  tell  you  it's  nothing  but 
damned  fabrication — a  tissue  of  abominable  false- 
hood!" 

"You  mean  to  deny  that  you  have  ever  been 
through  any  form  of  marriage  before? "  said  Monck 
slowly. 

' '  Of  course  I  do ! "  Dacre  uttered  another  angry 
laugh.  "You  must  be  a  positive  fool  to  imagine 
such  a  thing.  It's  preposterous,  unheard  of! 


76         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Of  course  I  have  never  been  married  before. 
What  are  you  thinking  of?" 

Monck  remained  unmoved.  "She  has  been  a 
music-hall  actress,"  he  said.  "Her  name  is — or 
was — Madelina  B  elleville.  Do  you  tell  me  that  you 
have  never  had  any  dealings  whatever  with  her?" 

Dacre  laughed  again  fiercely,  scoffingly.  "You 
don't  imagine  that  I  would  marry  a  woman  of 
that  sort,  do  you?"  he  said. 

"That  is  no  answer  to  my  question,"  Monck 
said  firmly. 

"Confound  you!"  Dacre  blazed  into  open 
wrath.  "Who  the  devil  are  you  to  enquire  into 
my  private  affairs?  Do  you  think  I  am  going  to 
put  up  with  your  damned  impertinence?  What ? " 

"I  think  you  will  have  to."  Monck  spoke 
quitely,  but  there  was  deadly  determination  in  his 
words.  "It's  a  choice  of  evils,  and  if  you  are 
wise  you  will  choose  the  least.  Are  you  going 
to  read  the  letter?" 

Dacre  stared  at  him  for  a  moment  or  two  with 
eyes  of  glowering  resentment;  but  in  the  end  he 
put  forth  a  hand  not  wholly  steady  and  took  the 
sheet  held  out  to  him.  Monck  stood  beside  him 
in  utter  immobility,  gazing  out  over  the  valley 
with  a  changeless  vigilance  that  had  about  it 
something  fateful. 

Minutes  passed.  Dacre  seemed  unable  to  lift 
his  eyes  from  the  page.  But  it  fluttered  in  his 
hold,  though  the  night  was  still,  as  if  a  strong 
wind  were  blowing. 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden       77 

Suddenly  he  moved,  as  one  who  violently 
breaks  free  from  some  fettering  spell.  He  uttered 
a  bitter  oath  and  tore  the  sheet  of  paper  passion- 
ately to  fragments.  He  flung  them  to  the  ground 
and  trampled  them  underfoot. 

"Ten  million  curses  on  her!"  he  raved.  "She 
has  been  the  bane  of  my  life!" 

Monck's  eyes  came  out  of  the  distance  and 
surveyed  him,  coldly  curious.  "I  thought  so," 
he  said,  and  m  his  voice  was  an  odd  inflec- 
tion as  of  one  who  checks  a  laugh  at  an  ill-timed 
jest. 

Dacre  stamped  again  like  an  infuriated  bull. 
"If  I  had  her  here — I'd  strangle  her!"  he  swore. 
"That  brother  of  yours  is  an  artist.  He  has 
sketched  her  to  the  life — the  she-devil!"  His 
voice  cracked  and  broke.  He  was  breathing  like 
a  man  in  torture.  He  swayed  as  he  stood. 

And  still  Monck  remained  passive,  grim  and 
cold  and  unyielding.  "How  long  is  it  since  you 
married  her?"  he  questioned  at  last. 

1 '  I  tell  you  I  never  married  her ! ' '  Desperately 
Dacre  sought  to  recover  lost  ground,  but  he  had 
slipped  too  far. 

"You  told  me  that  lie  before, "  Monck  observed 
in  his  even  judicial  tones.  "Is  it — worth  while?" 

Dacre  glared  at  him,  but  his  glare  was  that  of 
the  hunted  animal  trapped  and  helpless.  He  was 
conquered,  and  he  knew  it. 

Calmly  Monck  continued.  ' '  There  is  not  much 
doubt  that  she  holds  proof  of  the  marriage,  and 


78        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

she  will  probably  try  to  establish  it  as  soon  as  she 
is  free." 

"She  will  never  get  anything  more  out  of  me," 
said  Dacre.  His  voice  was  low  and  sullen.  There 
was  that  in  the  other  man's  attitude  that  stilled 
his  fury,  rendering  it  futile,  even  in  a  fashion 
ridiculous. 

"I  am  not  thinking  of  you."  Monck's  coldness 
had  in  it  something  brutal.  "You  are  not  the 
only  person  concerned.  But  the  fact  remains- — 
this  woman  is  your  wife.  You  may  as  well  tell 
the  truth  about  it  as  not — since  I  know." 

Dacre  jerked  his  head  like  an  angry  bull,  but 
he  submitted.  "Oh  well,  if  you  must  have  it,  I 
suppose  she  was — once,"  he  said.  "She  caught 
me  when  I  was  a  kid  of  twenty-one.  She  was  a 
bad  'un  even  then,  and  it  didn't  take  me  long  to 
find  it  out.  I  could  have  divorced  her  several 
times  over,  only  the  marriage  was  a  secret  and  I 
didn't  want  my  people  to  know.  The  last  I  heard 
of  her  was  that  her  name  was  among  the  drowned 
on  a  wrecked  liner  going  to  America.  That  was 
six  years  ago  or  more;  and  I  was  thankful  to  be 
rid  of  her.  I  regarded  her  death  as  one  of  the 
biggest  slices  of  luck  I'd  ever  had.  And  now — 
curse  her!" — he  ended  savagely — "she  has  come 
to  life  again!" 

He  glanced  at  Monck  with  the  words,  almost 
as  if  seeking  sympathy;  but  Monck's  face  was 
masklike  in  its  unresponsiveness.  He  said  nothing 
whatever. 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden      79 

In  a  moment  Dacre  took  up  the  tale.  "I've 
considered  myself  free  ever  since  we  separated, 
after  only  six  weeks  together.  Any  man  would. 
It  was  nothing  but  a  passing  fancy.  Heaven 
knows  why  I  was  fool  enough  to  marry  her,  except 
that  I  had  high-flown  ideas  of  honour  in  those 
days,  and  I  got  drawn  in.  She  never  regarded  it 
as  binding,  so  why  in  thunder  should  I?"  He 
spoke  indignantly,  as  one  who  had  the  right  of 
complaint. 

"Your  ideas  of  honour  having  altered  some- 
what," observed  Monck,  with  bitter  cynicism. 

Dacre  winced  a  little.  "I  don't  profess  to  be 
anything  extraordinary,"  he  said.  "But  I  main- 
tain that  marriage  gives  no  woman  the  right  to 
wreck  a  man's  life.  She  has  no  more  claim  upon 
me  now  than  the  man  in  the  moon.  If  she  tries  to 
assert  it,  she  will  soon  find  her  mistake."  He  was 
beginning  to  recover  his  balance,  and  there  was 
even  a  hint  of  his  customary  complacence  audible 
in  his  voice  as  he  made  the  declaration.  "But  there 
is  no  reason  to  believe  she  will, "  he  added.  "She 
knows  very  well  that  she  has  nothing  whatever 
to  gain  by  it.  Your  brother  seems  to  have 
gathered  but  a  vague  idea  of  the  affair.  You  had 
better  write  and  tell  him  that  the  Dacre  he  means 
is  dead.  Your  brother-officer  belongs  to  another 
branch  of  the  family.  That  ought  to  satisfy 
everybody  and  no  great  harm  done,  what?" 

He  uttered  the  last  word  with  a  tentative,  dis- 
arming smile.  He  was  not  quite  sure  of  his  man, 


8o         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

but  it  seemed  to  him  that  even  Monck  must  see 
the  utter  futility  of  making  a  disturbance  about 
the  affair  at  this  stage.  Matters  had  gone  so  far 
that  silence  was  the  only  course — silence  on  his 
part,  a  judicious  lie  or  two  on  the  part  of  Monck. 
He  did  not  see  how  the  latter  could  refuse  to  render 
him  so  small  a  service.  As  he  himself  had  re- 
marked but  a  few  moments  before,  he,  Dacre. 
was  not  the  only  person  concerned. 

But  the  absolute  and  uncompromising  silence 
with  which  his  easy  suggestion  was  received  was 
disquieting.  He  hastened  to  break  it,  divining 
that  the  longer  it  lasted  the  less  was  it  likely  to 
end  in  his  favour. 

"Come,  I  say!"  he  urged  on  a  friendly  note. 
"You  can't  refuse  to  do  this  much  for  a  comrade 
in  a  tight  corner!  I'd  do  the  same  for  you  and 
more.  And  remember,  it  isn't  my  happiness 
alone  that  hangs  in  the  balance!  We've  got  to 
think  of —Stella!" 

Monck  moved  at  that,  moved  sharply,  almost 
with  violence.  Yet,  when  he  spoke,  his  voice 
was  still  deliberate,  cuttingly  distinct.  "Yes,"  he 
said.  "And  her  honour  is  worth  about  as  much 
to  you,  apparently,  as  your  own !  I  am  thinking 
of  her — and  of  her  only.  And,  so  far  as  I  can  see, 
there  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  Dacre's  air  of  half -humorous 
persuasion  dissolved  into  insolence.  "And  I  am 
to  do  it,  am  I?  Your  humble  servant  to  com- 
mand!" 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden       81 

Monck  stretched  forth  a  sinewy  arm  and  slowly 
closed  his  fist  under  the  other  man's  eyes.  "You 
will  do  it — yes,"  he  said.  "I  hold  you — like 
that." 

Dacre  flinched  slightly  in  spite  of  himself. 
"What  do  you  mean?  You  would  never  be  such 
a — such  a  cur — as  to  give  me  away?" 

Monck  made  a  sound  that  was  too  full  of  bit- 
terness to  be  termed  a  laugh.  "You're  such  an 
infernal  blackguard,"  he  said,  "that  I  don't  care 
a  damn  whether  you  go  to  the  devil  or  not.  The 
only  thing  that  concerns  me  is  how  to  protect  a 
woman's  honour  that  you  have  dared  to  jeopard- 
ize, how  to  save  her  from  open  shame.  It  won't 
be  an  easy  matter,  but  it  can  be  done,  and  it  shall 
be  done.  Now  listen ! "  His  voice  rang  suddenly 
hard,  almost  metallic.  "If  this  thing  is  to  be 
kept  from  her — as  it  must  be— as  it  shall  be — you 
must  drop  out — vanish.  So  far  as  she  is  concerned 
you  must  die  to-night." 

"I?"  Dacre  stared  at  him  in  startled  incre- 
dulity. "Man,  are  you  mad?" 

"I  am  not."  Keen  as  bared  steel  came  the 
answer.  Monck 's  impassivity  was  gone.  His 
face  was  darkly  passionate,  his  whole  bearing  that 
of  a  man  relentlessly  set  upon  obtaining  the  mas- 
tery. "But  if  you  imagine  her  safety  can  be 
secured  without  a  sacrifice,  you  are  wrong.  Do 
you  think  I  am  going  to  stand  tamely  by  and  see 
an  innocent  woman  dragged  down  to  your  beastly 
level?  What  do  you  suppose  her  point  of  view 


82         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

would  be?  How  would  she  treat  the  situation 
if  she  ever  came  to  know?  I  believe  she  would 
kill  herself." 

"But  she  never  need  know!  She  never  shall 
know!"  There  was  a  note  of  desperation  in 
Dacre's  rejoinder.  "You have  only  got  to  hush  it 
up,  and  it  will  die  a  natural  death.  That  she- 
devil  will  never  take  the  trouble  to  follow  me  out 
here.  Why  should  she  ?  She  knows  very  well  that 
she  has  no  claim  whatever  upon  me.  Stella  is  the 
only  woman  who  has  any  claim  upon  me  now." 

"You  are  right."  Grimly  Monck  took  him  up. 
"And  her  claim  is  the  claim  of  an  honourable 
woman  to  honourable  treatment.  And  so  far  as 
lies  in  your  power  and  mine,  she  shall  have  it. 
That  is  why  you  will  do  this  thing — disappear 
to-night,  go  out  of  her  life  for  good,  and  let 
her  think  you  dead.  I  will  undertake  then  that 
the  truth  shall  never  reach  her.  She  will  be  safe. 
But  there  can  be  no  middle  course.  She  shall  not 
be  exposed  to  the  damnable  risk  of  finding  herself 
stranded." 

He  ceased  to  speak,  and  in  the  moonlight  their 
eyes  met  as  the  eyes  of  men  who  grip  together  in  a 
death-struggle. 

The  silence  between  them  was  more  terrible 
than  words.  It  held  unutterable  things. 

Dacre  spoke  at  last,  his  voice  low  and  hoarse. 
"I  can't  do  it.  There  is  too  much  involved. 
Besides,  it  wouldn't  really  help.  She  would 
come  to  know  inevitably." 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden       83 

"She  will  never  know."  Inexorably  came  the 
answer,  spoken  with  pitiless  insistence.  "As  to 
ways  and  means,  I  have  provided  for  them.  It 
won't  be  difficult  in  this  wilderness  to  cover  your 
tracks.  When  the  news  has  gone  forth  that  you 
are  dead,  no  one  will  look  for  you." 

A  hard  shiver  went  through  Dacre.  His  hands 
clenched.  He  was  as  a  man  in  the  presence  of  his 
executioner.  The  paralysing  spell  was  upon  him 
again,  constricting  as  a  rope  about  his  neck.  But 
sacrifice  was  no  part  of  his  nature.  With  despair  at 
his  heart,  he  yet  made  a  desperate  bid  for  freedom. 

"The  whole  business  is  outrageous!"  he  said. 
"It  is  out  of  the  question.  I  refuse  to  do  it. 
Matters  have  gone  too  far.  To  all  intents  and 
purposes,  Stella  is  my  wife,  and  I'm  damned  if 
any  one  shall  come  between  us.  You  may  do  your 
worst!  I  refuse." 

Defiance  was  his  only  weapon,  and  he  hurled 
it  with  all  his  strength;  but  the  moment  he  had 
done  so,  he  realized  the  hopelessness  of  the  ven- 
ture. Monck  made  a  single,  swift  movement, 
and  in  a  moment  the  moonlight  glinted  upon  the 
polished  muzzle  of  a  Service  revolver.  He  spoke, 
briefly,  with  iron  coldness. 

"The  choice  is  yours.  Only — if  you  refuse  to 
give  her — the  sanctuary  of  widowhood — I  will! 
After  all  it  would  be  the  safest  way  for  all  con- 
cerned." 

Dacre  went  back  a  pace.  "Going  to  murder 
me,  what?"  he  said. 


84         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Monck's  teeth  gleamed  in  a  terrible  smile. 
"You  need  not — refuse, "  he  said. 

"True!"  Dacre  was  looking  him  full  in  the 
eyes  with  more  of  curiosity  than  apprehension. 
"And — as  you  have  foreseen — I  shall  not  refuse 
under  those  circumstances.  It  would  have  saved 
time  if  you  had  put  it  in  that  light  before." 

''It  would.  But  I  hoped  you  might  have  the 
decency  to  act  without — persuasion."  Monck 
was  speaking  between  his  teeth,  but  the  revolver 
was  concealed  again  in  the  folds  of  his  garment. 
"You  will  leave  to-night — at  once — without  seeing 
her  again.  That  is  understood." 

It  was  the  end  of  the  conflict.  Dacre  attempted 
no  further  resistance.  He  was  not  the  man  to 
waste  himself  upon  a  cause  that  he  realized  to  be 
hopeless.  Moreover,  there  was  about  Monck  at 
that  moment  a  force  that  restrained  him,  com- 
pelled instinctive  respect.  Though  he  hated  the 
man  for  his  mastery,  he  could  not  despise  him. 
For  he  knew  that  what  he  had  done  had  been  done 
through  a  rigid  sense  of  honour  and  that  chivalry 
which  goes  hand  in  hand  with  honour — the 
chivalry  with  which  no  woman  would  have 
credited  him. 

That  Monck  had  nought  but  the  most  dis- 
interested regard  for  any  woman,  he  firmly  be- 
lieved, and  probably  that  conviction  gave  added 
strength  to  his  position.  That  he  should  fight 
thus  for  a  mere  principle,  though  incomprehensible 
in  Dacre's  opinion,  was  a  circumstance  that  carried 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden       85 

infinitely  more  weight  than  more  personal  cham- 
pionship. Monck  was  the  one  man  of  his  ac- 
quaintance who  had  never  displayed  the  smallest 
desire  to  compete  for  any  woman's  favour,  who 
had  never  indeed  shown  himself  to  be  drawn 
by  any  feminine  attractions,  and  his  sudden  as- 
sumption of  authority  was  therefore  unassailable. 
In  yielding  to  the  greater  power,  Dacre  yielded 
to  a  moral  force  rather  than  to  human  compulsion. 
And  though  driven  sorely  against  his  will,  he 
respected  the  power  that  drove.  His  dumb 
gesture  of  acquiescence  conveyed  as  much  as  he 
turned  away  relinquishing  the  struggle. 

He  had  fought  hard,  and  he  had  been  defeated. 
It  was  bitter  enough,  but  after  all  he  had  had  his 
turn.  The  first  hot  rapture  was  already  passing. 
Love  in  the  wilderness  could  not  last  for  ever. 
It  had  been  fierce  enough — too  fierce  to  endure. 
And  characteristically  he  reflected  that  Stella's 
cold  beauty  would  not  have  held  him  for  long. 
He  preferred  something  more  ardent,  more  living. 
Moreover,  his  nature  demanded  a  certain  meed  of 
homage  from  the  object  of  his  desire,  and  undeni- 
ably this  had  been  conspicuously  lacking.  Stella 
was  evidently  one  to  accept  rather  than  to  give, 
and  there  had  been  moments  when  this  had 
slightly  galled  him.  She  seemed  to  him  funda- 
mentally incapable  of  any  deep  feeling,  and 
though  this  had  not  begun  to  affect  their  relations 
at  present,  he  had  realized  in  a  vague  fashion  that 
because  of  it  she  would  not  hold  him  for  ever. 


86         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

So,  after  the  first,  he  knew  that  he  would  find 
consolation.  Certainly  he  would  not  break  his 
heart  for  her  or  for  any  woman,  nor  did  he  natter 
himself  that  she  would  break  hers  for  him. 

Meantime — he  prepared  to  shrug  his  shoulders 
over  the  inevitable.  Things  might  have  been 
much  worse.  And  perhaps  on  the  whole  it  was 
safer  to  obey  Monck's  command  and  go.  An  open 
scandal  would  really  be  a  good  deal  worse  for  him 
than  for  Stella,  who  had  little  to  lose,  and  there 
was  no  knowing  what  might  happen  if  he  took 
the  risk  and  remained.  Emphatically  he  had  no 
desire  to  face  a  personal  reckoning  at  some  future 
date  with  the  she-devil  who  had  been  the  bane  of 
his  existence.  It  was  an  unlikely  contingency  but 
undoubtedly  it  existed,  and  he  hated  unpleasant- 
ness of  all  kinds.  So,  philosophically,  he  resolved 
to  adjust  himself  to  this  burden.  There  was 
something  of  the  adventurer  in  his  blood  and  he 
had  a  vast  belief  in  his  own  ultimate  good  luck. 
Fortune  might  frown  for  awhile,  but  he  knew  that 
he  was  Fortune's  favourite  notwithstanding.  And 
very  soon  she  would  smile  again. 

But  for  Monck  he  had  only  the  bitter  hate  of 
the  conquered.  He  cast  a  malevolent  look  upon 
him  with  eyes  that  were  oddly  narrowed — a 
measuring,  speculative  look  that  comprehended 
his  strength  and  registered  the  infallibility  thereof 
with  loathing.  "I  wonder  what  happened  to  the 
serpent, "  he  said,  "when  the  man  and  woman  were 
thrust  out  of  the  garden." 


The  Serpent  in  the  Garden       87 

Monck  had  readjusted  his  disguise.  He  looked 
back  with  baffling,  inscrutable  eyes,  his  dark  face 
masklike  in  its  impenetrability.  But  he  spoke 
no  word  in  answer.  He  had  said  his  say.  Like  a 
mantle  he  gathered  his  reserve  about  him  again, 
as  a  man  resuming  a  solitary  journey  through 
the  desert  which  all  his  life  he  had  travelled  alone. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  FORBIDDEN    PARADISE 

LOOKING  back  later  upon  that  fateful  night,  it 
seemed  to  Stella  that  she  must  indeed  have  slept 
the  sleep  of  the  lotus-eater,  for  no  misgivings 
pierced  the  numb  unconsciousness  that  held  her 
through  the  still  hours.  She  lay  as  one  in  a 
trance,  wholly  insensible  of  the  fact  that  she  was 
alone,  aware  only  of  the  perpetual  rush  and  fall  of 
the  torrent  below,  which  seemed  to  act  like  a 
narcotic  upon  her  brain. 

When  she  awoke  at  length  broad  daylight  was 
all  about  her,  and  above  the  roar  of  the  stream 
there  was  rising  a  hubbub  of  voices  like  the  buzzing 
of  a  swarm  of  bees.  She  lay  for  awhile  listening 
to  it,  lazily  wondering  why  the  coolies  should 
bring  their  breakfast  so  much  nearer  to  the  tent 
than  usually,  and  then,  suddenly  and  terribly, 
there  came  a  cry  that  seemed  to  transfix  her, 
stabbing  her  heavy  senses  to  full  consciousness. 

For  a  second  or  two  she  lay  as  if  petrified,  every 
limb  struck  powerless,  every  nerve  strained  to 
listen.  Who  had  uttered  that  dreadful  wail? 
What  did  it  portend?  Then,  her  strength  re- 


The  Forbidden  Paradise         89 

turning,  she  started  up,  and  knew  that  she  was 
alone.  The  camp-bed  by  her  side  was  empty. 
It  had  not  been  touched.  Fear,  nameless  and 
chill,  swept  through  her.  She  felt  her  very  heart 
turn  cold. 

Shivering,  she  seized  a  wrap,  and  crept  to  the 
tent-entrance.  The  flap  was  unfastened,  just  as 
it  had  been  left  by  her  husband  the  night  before. 
With  shaking  fingers  she  drew  it  aside  and  looked 
forth. 

The  hubbub  of  voices  had  died  down  to  awed 
whisperings.  A  group  of  coolies  huddled  in  the 
open  space  before  her  like  an  assembly  of  monkeys 
holding  an  important  discussion. 

Further  away,  with  distorted  limbs  and  grim, 
impassive  countenance,  crouched  the  black- 
bearded  beggar  whose  importunity  had  lured 
Ralph  from  her  side  the  previous  evening.  His 
red-rimmed,  sunken  eyes  gazed  like  the  eyes  of  a 
dead  man  straight  into  the  sunrise.  So  motionless 
were  they,  so  utterly  void  of  expression,  that  she 
thought  they  must  be  blind.  There  was  some- 
thing fateful,  something  terrible  in  the  aloofness 
of  him.  It  was  as  if  an  invisible  circle  surrounded 
him  within  which  none  might  intrude. 

And  close  at  hand — so  close  that  she  could  have 
touched  his  turbaned  head  as  she  stood — the 
great  Sikh  bearer,  Peter,  sat  huddled  in  a  heap  on 
the  soft  green  earth  and  rocked  himself  to  and  fro 
like  a  child  in  trouble.  She  knew  at  the  first  glance 
that  it  was  he  who  had  uttered  that  anguished  wail. 


90        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

To  him  she  turned,  as  to  the  only  being  she 
could  trust  in  that  strange  scene. 

"Peter, "  she  said,  "what  has  happened?  What 
is  wrong?  Where — where  is  the  captain  sahib?1' 

He  gave  a  great  start  at  the  sound  of  her  voice 
above  him,  and  instantly,  with  a  rapid  noiseless 
movement,  arose  and  bent  himself  before  her. 

"The  mem-sahib  will  pardon  her  servant,"  he 
said,  and  she  saw  that  his  dark  face  was  twisted 
with  emotion.  "But  there  is  bad  news  for  her 
to-day.  The  captain  sahib  has  gone." 

"Gone!"  Stella  echoed  the  word  uncompre- 
hendingly,  as  one  who  speaks  an  unknown 
language. 

Peter's  look  fell  before  the  wide  questioning  of 
hers.  He  replied  almost  under  his  breath :  ' '  Mem- 
sahib,  it  was  in  the  still  hour  of  the  night.  The 
captain  sahib  slept  on  the  mountain,  and  in  his 
sleep  he  fell — and  was  taken  away  by  the  stream." 

"Taken  away!"  Again,  numbly,  Stella  re- 
peated his  words.  She  felt  suddenly  very  weak 
and  sick. 

Peter  stretched  a  hand  towards  the  inscrutable 
stranger.  "This  man,  mem-sahib,"  he  said  with 
reverence,  "he  is  a  holy  man,  and  while  praying 
upon  the  mountain  top,  he  saw  the  sahib,  sunk  in 
a  deep  sleep,  fall  forward  over  the  rock  as  if  a 
hand  had  touched  him.  He  came  down  and 
searched  for  him,  mem-sahib;  but  he  was  gone. 
The  snows  are  melting,  and  the  water  runs  swift 
and  deep." 


The  Forbidden  Paradise         91 

"Ah!"  It  was  a  gasp  rather  than  an  exclama- 
tion. Stella  was  blindly  tottering  against  the 
tent-rope,  clutching  vaguely  for  support. 

The  great  Sikh  caught  her  ere  she  fell,  his  own 
distress  subdued  in  a  flash  before  the  urgency  of 
her  need.  "Lean  on  me,  mem-sahib!"  he  said, 
deference  and  devotion  mingling  in  his  voice. 

She  accepted  his  help  instinctively,  scarcely 
knowing  what  she  did,  and  very  gently,,  with  a 
woman's  tenderness,  he  led  her  back  into  the  tent. 

"My  mem-sahib  must  rest,"  he  said.  "And  I 
will  find  a  woman  to  serve  her." 

She  opened  her  eyes  with  a  dizzy  sense  of  wonder. 
Peter  had  never  failed  before  to  procure  anything 
that  she  wanted,  but  even  in  her  extremity  she 
had  a  curiously  irrelevant  moment  of  conjecture 
as  to  where  he  would  turn  in  the  wilderness  for 
the  commodity  he  so  confidently  mentioned. 

Then,  the  anguish  returning,  she  checked  his 
motion  to  depart.  "No,  no,  Peter,"  she  said, 
commanding  her  voice  with  difficulty.  ' '  There  is 
no  need  for  that.  I  am  quite  all  right.  But — 
but — tell  me  more!  How  did  this  happen?  Why 
did  he  sleep  on  the  mountain?" 

"How  should  the  mem-sahib's  servant  know?" 
questioned  Peter,  gently  and  deferentially,  as  one 
who  reasoned  with  a  child.  "It  may  be  that  the 
opium  of  his  cigar  was  stronger  than  usual.  But 
how  can  I  tell?" 

"Opium!  He  never  smoked  opium!"  Stella 
gazed  upon  him  in  fresh  bewilderment.  "Surely 


92         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

— surely  not!"  she  said,  as  though  seeking  to 
convince  herself. 

"Mem-sahib,  how  should  I  know?"  the  Indian 
murmured  soothingly. 

She  became  suddenly  aware  that  further  in- 
action was  unendurable.  She  must  see  for  herself. 
She  must  know  the  whole,  dreadful  truth.  Though 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  she  spoke  with  deci- 
sion. "Peter,  go  outside  and  wait  for  me!  Keep 
that  old  beggar  too!  Don't  let  him  go!  As  soon 
as  I  am  dressed,  we  will  go  to — the  place — and — 
look  for  him." 

She  stumbled  over  the  last  words,  but  she 
spoke  them  bravely.  Peter  straightened  himself, 
recognizing  the  voice  of  authority.  With  a  deep 
salaam,  he  turned  and  passed  out,  drawing  the 
tent-flap  decorously  into  place  behind  him. 

And  then  with  fevered  energy,  Stella  dressed. 
Her  hands  moved  with  lightning  speed  though 
her  body  felt  curiously  weighted  and  unnatural. 
The  fantastic  thought  crossed  her  brain  that  it 
was  as  though  she  prepared  herself  for  her  own 
funeral. 

No  sound  reached  her  from  without,  save  only 
the  monotonous  and  endless  dashing  of  the  torrent 
among  its  boulders.  She  was  beginning  to  feel 
that  the  sound  in  some  fashion  expressed  a  curse. 

When  she  was  ready  at  length,  she  stood  for  a 
second  or  two  to  gather  her  strength.  She  still 
felt  ill  and  dizzy,  as  though  the  world  she  knew 
had  suddenly  fallen  away  from  her  and  left  her 


The  Forbidden  Paradise         93 

struggling  in  unimaginable  space,  like  a  swimmer 
in  deep  waters.  But  she  conquered  her  weakness, 
and,  drawing  aside  the  tent-flap  once  more,  she 
stepped  forth. 

The  morning  sun  struck  full  upon  her.  It 
was  as  if  the  whole  earth  rushed  to  meet  her  in  a 
riot  of  rejoicing;  but  she  was  in  some  fashion  out- 
side and  beyond  it  all.  The  glow  could  not  reach 
her. 

With  a  sharp  sense  of  revulsion,  she  saw  the 
deformed  man  squatting  close  to  her,  his  chuddah- 
draped  head  lodged  upon  his  knees.  He  did  not 
stir  at  her  coming  though  she  felt  convinced  that 
he  was  aware  of  her,  aware  probably  of  everything 
that  passed  within  a  considerable  radius  of  his 
disreputable  person.  His  dark  face,  lined  and 
dirty,  half-covered  with  ragged  black  hair  that 
ended  in  a  long  thin  wisp  like  a  goat's  beard  on  his 
shrunken  chest,  was  still  turned  to  the  east  as 
though  challenging  the  sun  that  was  smiting  a 
swift  course  through  the  heavens  as  if  with  a 
flaming  sword.  The  simile  rushed  through  her 
mind  unbidden.  Where  would  she  be — what 
would  have  happened  to  her — by  the  time  that 
sword  was  sheathed? 

She  conquered  her  repulsion  and  approached 
the  man.  As  she  did  so,  Peter  glided  silently  up 
like  a  faithful  watch-dog  and  took  his  place  at  her 
right  hand.  It  was  typical  of  the  position  he 
was  to  occupy  in  the  days  that  were  coming. 

Within  a  pace  or  two  of  the  huddled  figure, 


94         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Stella  stopped.  He  had  not  moved.  It  wa» 
evident  that  he  was  so  rapt  in  meditation  that 
her  presence  at  that  moment  was  no  more  to  him 
than  that  of  an  insect  crawling  across  his  path. 
His  eyes,  red-rimmed,  startlingly  bright,  still 
challenged  the  coming  day.  His  whole  expression 
was  so  grimly  aloof,  so  sternly  unsympathetic,  that 
she  hesitated  to  disturb  him. 

Humbly  Peter  came  to  her  assistance.  "May 
I  be  allowed  to  speak  to  him,  mem-sahib?"  he 
asked. 

She  turned  to  him  thankfully.  "Yes,  tell  him 
what  I  want!" 

Peter  placed  himself  in  front  of  the  stranger. 
"The  noble  lady  desires  your  service,"  he  said. 
"Her  gracious  excellency  is  waiting." 

A  quiver  went  through  the  crouching  form.  He 
seemed  to  awake,  his  mind  returning  as  it  were 
from  a  far  distance.  He  turned  his  head,  and 
Stella  saw  that  he  was  not  blind.  For  his  eyes 
took  her  in,  for  the  moment  appraised  her.  Then 
with  ungainly,  tortoiselike  movements,  he  arose. 

"I  am  her  excellency's  servant,"  he  said,  in 
hollow,  quavering  accents.  "I  live  or  die  at  her 
most  gracious  command." 

It  was  abjectly  spoken,  yet  she  shuddered  at 
the  sound  of  his  voice.  Her  whole  being  revolted 
against  holding  any  converse  with  the  man.  But 
she  forced  herself  to  persist.  Only  this  monstrous, 
half-bestial  creature  could  give  her  any  detail  of 
the  awful  thing  that  had  happened  in  the  night. 


The  Forbidden  Paradise         95 

If  Ralph  were  indeed  dead,  this  man  was  the  last 
who  had  seen  him  in  life. 

With  a  strong  effort  she  subdued  her  repugnance 
and  addressed  him.  "I  want,"  she  said,  "to  be 
guided  to  the  place  from  which  you  say  he  fell.  I 
must  see  for  myself." 

He  bent  himself  almost  to  the  earth  before  her. 
"Let  the  gracious  lady  follow  her  servant!"  he 
said,  and  forthwith  straightened  himself  and 
hobbled  away. 

She  followed  him  in  utter  silence,  Peter  walking 
at  her  right  hand.  Up  the  steep  goat-path  which 
Dacre  had  so  arrogantly  ascended  in  the  wake  of 
his  halting  guide  they  made  their  slow  progress 
in  dumb  procession.  Stella  moved  as  one  rapt  in 
some  terrible  dream.  Again  that  drugged  feeling 
was  upon  her,  that  sense  of  being  bound  by  a 
spell,  and  now  she  knew  that  the  spell  was  evil. 
Once  or  twice  her  brain  stirred  a  little  when  Peter 
offered  his  silent  help,  and  she  thanked  him  and 
accepted  it  while  scarcely  realizing  what  she  did. 
But  for  the  most  part  she  remained  in  that  state 
of  awful  quiescence,  the  inertia  of  one  about  whom 
the  toils  of  a  pitiless  Fate  were  closely  woven. 
There  was  no  escape  for  her.  She  knew  that 
there  could  be  no  escape.  She  had  been  caught 
trespassing  in  a  forbidden  paradise,  and  she  was 
about  to  be  thrust  forth  without  mercy. 

High  up  on  a  shelf  of  naked  rock  their  guide 
stood  and  waited — a  ragged,  incongruous  figure 
against  the  purity  of  the  new  day.  The  early 


96         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

sun  had  barely  topped  the  highest  mountains, 
but  a  great  gap  between  two  mighty  peaks  re- 
vealed it.  As  Stella  pressed  forward,  she  came 
suddenly  into  the  splendour  of  the  morning. 

It  affected  her  strangely.  She  felt  as  Moses 
must  have  felt  when  the  Glory  of  God  was  re- 
vealed to  him.  The  brightness  was  intolerable. 
It  seemed  to  pierce  her  through  and  through.  She 
was  not  able  to  look  upon  it. 

"Excellency,"  the  stranger  said,  "it  was  here." 

She  moved  forward  and  stood  beside  him. 
Quiveringly,  in  a  voice  she  hardly  recognized  as 
her  own,  she  spoke.  "You  were  with  him.  You 
brought  him  here." 

He  made  a  gesture  as  of  one  who  repudiates 
responsibility.  "I,  excellency,  I  am  the  servant 
of  the  Holy  Ones,"  he  said.  "I  had  a  message 
for  him.  I  knew  that  the  Holy  Ones  were  angry. 
It  was  written  that  the  white  sahib  should  not 
tread  the  sacred  ground.  I  warned  him,  excel- 
lency, and  then  I  left  him.  And  now  the  Holy 
Ones  have  worked  their  will  upon  him,  and  lo,  he 
is  gone." 

Stella  gazed  at  the  man  with  fascinated  eyes. 
The  confidence  with  which  he  spoke  somehow 
left  no  room  for  question. 

"He  is  mad,"  she  murmured,  half  to  herself 
and  half  to  Peter.  "Of  course  he  is  mad." 

And  then,  as  if  a  hand  had  touched  her  also, 
she  moved  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  precipice 
and  looked  down. 


The  Forbidden  Paradise         97 

The  rush  of  the  torrent  rose  up  like  the  tumult 
of  many  voices  calling  to  her,  calling  to  her.  The 
depth  beneath  her  feet  widened  to  an  abyss  that 
yawned  to  engulf  her.  With  a  sick  sense  of  horror 
she  realized  that  ghastly,  headlong  fall — from 
warm,  throbbing  life  on  the  enchanted  height  to 
instant  and  terrible  destruction  upon  the  green, 
slimy  boulders  over  which  the  water  dashed  and 
roared  continuously  far  below.  Here  he  had  sat, 
that  arrogant  lover  of  hers,  and  slipped  from 
somnolent  enjoyment  into  that  dreadful  gulf.  At 
her  feet — proof  indisputable  of  the  truth  of  the 
story  she  had  been  told — lay  a  charred  fragment 
of  the  cigar  that  had  doubtless  been  between  his 
lips  when  he  had  sunk  into  that  fatal  sleep.  The 
memory  of  Peter's  words  flashed  through  her 
brain.  He  had  smoked  opium.  She  wondered 
if  Peter  really  knew.  But  of  what  avail  now  to 
conjecture?  He  was  gone,  and  only  this  mad 
native  vagabond  had  witnessed  his  going. 

And  at  that,  another  thought  pierced  her  keen 
as  a  dagger,  rending  its  way  through  living  tissues. 
The  manner  of  the  man's  appearing,  the  horror 
with  which  he  had  inspired  her,  the  mystery  of 
him,  all  combined  to  drive  it  home  to  her  heart. 
What  if  a  hand  had  indeed  touched  him?  What 
if  a  treacherous  blow  had  hurled  him  over  that 
terrible  edge? 

She  turned  to  look  again  upon  the  stranger, 
but  he  had  withdrawn  himself.  She  saw  only 
the  Indian  servant,  standing  close  beside  her,  his 


98         The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

dark  eyes  following  her  every  action  with  wistful 
vigilance, 

Meeting  her  desperate  gaze,  he  pressed  a  little 
nearer,  like  a  faithful  dog,  protective  and  devoted. 
"Come  away,  my  mem-sahib!"  he  entreated  very 
earnestly.  "It  is  the  Gate  of  Death." 

That  pierced  her  anew.  Her  desolation  came 
upon  her  in  an  overwhelming  wave.  She  turned 
with  a  great  cry,  and  threw  her  arms  wide  to  the 
risen  sun,  tottering  blindly  towards  the  emptiness 
that  stretched  beneath  her  feet.  And  as  she 
went,  she  heard  the  roar  of  the  torrent  dashing 
down  over  its  grim  boulders  to  the  great  river  up 
which  they  two  had  glided  in  their  dream  of  en- 
chantment aeons  and  aeons  before.  .  .  . 

She  knew  nothing  of  the  sinewy  arms  that  held 
her  back  from  death  though  she  fought  them 
fiercely,  desperately.  She  did  not  hear  the  pite- 
ous entreaties  of  poor  harassed  Peter  as  he  forced 
her  back,  back,  back,  from  those  awful  depths. 
She  only  knew  a  great  turmoil  that  seemed  to 
her  unending — a  fearful  striving  against  ever- 
increasing  odds — and  at  the  last  a  swirling,  un- 
fathomable darkness  descending  like  a  wind-blown 
blanket  upon  her — enveloping  her,  annihilating 
her.  .  .  . 

And  British  eyes,  keen  and  grey  and  stern, 
looked  on  from  afar,  watching  silently,  as  the 
Indian  bore  his  senseless  mem-sahib  away. 


PART  II 
CHAPTER  I 

THE   MINISTERING   ANGEL 

"AND  what  am  I  going  to  do?"  demanded 
Mrs.  Ermsted  fretfully.  She  was  lounging  in  the 
easiest  chair  in  Mrs.  Ralston's  drawing-room  with 
a  cigarette  between  her  fingers.  A  very  decided 
frown  was  drawing  her  delicate  brows.  "I  had 
no  idea  you  could  be  so  fickle, "  she  said. 

"My  dear,  I  shall  welcome  you  here  just  as 
heartily  as  I  ever  have, "  Mrs.  Ralston  assured  her, 
without  lifting  her  eyes  from  the  muslin  frock  at 
which  she  was  busily  stitching. 

Mrs.  Ermsted  pouted.  "That  may  be.  But  I 
shan't  come  very  often  when  she  is  here.  I  don't 
like  widows.  They  are  either  so  melancholy 
that  they  give  you  the  hump  or  so  self-important 
that  you  want  to  slap  them.  I  never  did  fancy 
this  girl,  as  you  know.  Much  too  haughty  and 
superior." 

"You  never  knew  her,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston. 

Mrs.  Ermsted's  laugh  had  a  touch  of  venom. 
"As  I  have  tried  more  than  once  to  make  you 

99 


ioo       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

realize,"  she  said,  "there  are  at  least  two  points 
of  view  to  everybody.  You,  dear  Mrs.  Ralston, 
always  wear  rose-coloured  spectacles,  with  the 
unfortunate  result  that  your  opinion  is  so  unvary- 
ingly favourable  that  nobody  values  it." 

Mrs.  Ralston's  faded  face  flushed  faintly.  She 
worked  on  in  silence. 

For  a  space  Netta  Ermsted  smoked  her  cigarette 
with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  space;  then  very  suddenly 
she  spoke  again.  "I  wonder  if  Ralph  Dacre 
committed  suicide." 

Mrs.  Ralston  started  at  the  abrupt  surmise. 
She  looked  up  for  the  first  time.  "Really,  my 
dear!  What  an  extraordinary  thing  to  say!" 

Little  Mrs.  Ermsted  jerked  up  her  chin  ag- 
gressively. "Why  extraordinary,  I  wonder?  No- 
thing could  be  more  extraordinary  than  his  death. 
Either  he  jumped  over  the  precipice  or  she  pushed 
him  over  when  he  wasn't  looking.  I  wonder 
which." 

But  at  that  Mrs.  Ralston  gravely  arose  and 
rebuked  her.  She  never  suffered  any  nervous 
qualms  when  dealing  with  this  volatile  friend  of 
hers.  "It  is  more  than  foolish,"  she  said  with 
decision;  "it  is  wicked,  to  talk  like  that.  I  will 
not  sit  and  listen  to  you.  You  have  a  very  mis- 
chievous brain,  Netta.  You  ought  to  keep  it 
under  better  control." 

Mrs.  Ermsted  stretched  out  her  dainty  feet  in 
front  of  her  and  made  a  grimace.  "When  you 
call  me  Netta,  I  always  know  it  is  getting  serious, " 


The  Ministering  Angel         101 

she  remarked.  "I  withdraw  it  all,  my  dear  angel, 
with  the  utmost  liberality.  You  shall  see  how 
generous  I  can  be  to  my  supplanter.  But  do  like 
a  good  soul  finish  those  tiresome  tucks  before  you 
begin  to  be  really  cross  with  me!  Poor  little 
Tessa  really  needs  that  frock,  and  ayah  is  such  a 
shocking  worker.  I  shan't  be  able  to  turn  to  you 
for  anything  when  the  estimable  Mrs.  Dacre  is 
here.  In  fact  I  shall  be  driven  to  Mrs.  Burton 
for  companionship  and  counsel,  and  shall  become 
more  catty  than  ever." 

"My  dear,  please" — Mrs.  Ralston  spoke  very 
earnestly — "do  not  imagine  for  an  instant  that 
having  that  poor  girl  to  care  for  will  make  the 
smallest  difference  to  my  friendship  for  you!  I 
hope  to  see  as  much  of  you  and  little  Tessa  as  I 
have  ever  seen.  I  feel  that  Stella  would  be  fond 
of  children.  Your  little  one  would  be  a  comfort 
to  any  sore  heart." 

"She  can  be  a  positive  little  devil,"  observed 
Tessa's  mother  dispassionately.  "But  it's  better 
than  being  a  saint,  isn't  it?  Look  at  that  hateful 
child,  Cedric  Burton— detestable  little  ape !  That 
Burton  complacency  gets  on  my  nerves,  especially 
in  a  child  But  then  look  at  the  Burtons!  How 
could  they  help  having  horrible  little  self-opinion- 
ated apes  for  children  ? ' ' 

"My  dear,  your  tongue — your  tongue!"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Ralston. 

Mrs.  Ermsted  shot  it  out  and  in  again  with  an 
impudent  smile.  "Well,  what's  the  matter  with 


102       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

it?  It's  quite  a  candid  one — like  your  own.  A 
little  more  pointed  perhaps  and  something  venom- 
ous upon  occasion.  But  it  has  its  good  qualities 
also.  At  least  it  is  never  insincere." 

"Of  that  I  am  sure."  Mrs.  Ralston  spoke 
with  ready  kindliness.  "But,  oh,  my  dear,  if  it 
were  only  a  little  more  charitable!" 

Netta  Ermsted  smiled  at  her  like  a  wayward 
child.  "I  like  saying  nasty  things  about  people, " 
she  said.  ' '  It  amuses  me.  Besides,  they're  nearly 
always  true.  Do  tell  me  what  you  think  of  that 
latest  hat  erection  of  Lady  Harriet's!  I  never 
saw  her  look  more  aristocratically  hideous  in  my 
life  than  she  looked  at  the  Rajah's  garden-party 
yesterday.  I  felt  quite  sorry  for  the  Rajah,  for 
he's  a  nice  boy  notwithstanding  his  forty  wives, 
and  he  likes  pretty  things."  She  gave  a  little 
laugh,  and  stretched  her  white  arms  up,  clasping 
her  hands  behind  her  head.  "I  have  promised 
to  ride  with  him  in  the  early  mornings  now  and 
then.  Won't  darling  Dick  be  jealous  when  he 
knows?" 

Mrs.  Ralston  uttered  a  sigh.  There  were  times 
when  all  her  attempts  to  reform  this  giddy  little 
butterfly  seemed  unavailing.  Nevertheless,  being 
sound  of  principle  and  unfailingly  conscientious, 
she  made  a  gallant  effort.  "Do  you  think  you 
ought  to  do  that,  dear?  I  always  think  that  we 
ought  to  live  more  circumspectly  here  at  Bhulwana 
than  down  at  Kurrumpore.  And — if  I  may  be 
allowed  to  say  so — your  husband  is  such  a  good, 


The  Ministering  Angel         103 

kind  man,  so  indulgent,  it  seems  unfair  to  take 
advantage  of  it." 

"Oh,  is  he?"  laughed  Netta.  "How  ill  you 
know  my  doughty  Richard!  Why,  it's  half  the 
fun  in  life  to  make  him  mad.  He  nearly  turned 
me  over  his  knee  and  spanked  me  the  last  time." 

"My  dear,  I  wish  he  had!"  said  Mrs.  Ralston, 
with  downright  fervour.  "It  would  do  you  good. ' ' 

"Think  so?"  Netta  flicked  the  ash  from  her 
cigarette  with  a  disdainful  gesture.  "It  all 
depends.  I  should  either  worship  him  or  loath 
him  afterwards.  I  wonder  which.  Poor  old 
Richard!  It's  silly  of  him  to  stay  in  love  with 
the  same  person  always,  isn't  it?  I  couldn't  be 
so  monotonous  if  I  tried." 

"In  fact  if  he  cared  less  about  you,  you  would 
think  more  of  him, "  remarked  Mrs.  Ralston,  with 
a  quite  unusual  touch  of  severity. 

Netta  Ermsted  laughed  again,  her  light,  heart- 
less laugh.  "How  crushingly  absolute!  But  it 
is  the  literal  truth.  I  certainly  should.  He's 
cheap  now,  poor  old  boy.  That's  why  I  lead  him 
such  a  dog's  life.  A  man  should  never  be  cheap  to 
his  wife.  Now  look  at  your  husband!  Indiffer- 
ence personified !  And  you  have  never  given  him 
an  hour's  anxiety  in  his  life." 

Mrs.  Ralston's  pale  blue  eyes  suddenly  shone. 
She  looked  almost  young  again.  "We  under- 
stand each  other, "  she  said  simply. 

A  mocking  smile  played  about  Mrs.  Ermsted's 
lips,  but  she  said  nothing  for  the  moment.  In 


104       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

her  own  fashion  she  was  fond  of  the  surgeon's 
wife,  and  she  would  not  openly  deride  her,  dear 
good  soul. 

"When  you've  quite  finished  that,"  she  re- 
marked presently,  "there's  a  tussore  frock  of 
my  own  I  want  to  consult  you  about.  There's 
one  thing  about  Stella;  she  won't  be  wanting 
many  clothes,  so  I  shall  be  able  to  retain  your 
undivided  attention  in  that  respect.  I  really 
don't  know  what  Tessa  and  I  would  do  without 
you.  The  tiresome  little  thing  is  always  tearing 
her  clothes  to  pieces." 

Mrs.  Ralston  smiled,  a  soft  mother-smile. 
"You're  a  lucky,  lucky  girl,"  she  said,  "though 
you  don't  realize  it,  and  probably  never  will. 
When  are  you  going  to  bring  the  little  monkey  to 
see  me  again?" 

"She  will  probably  come  herself  when  the  mood 
takes  her,"  carelessly  Mrs.  Ermsted  made  reply. 
"I  assure  you,  you  stand  very  high  on  her  visiting 
list.  But  I  hardly  ever  take  her  anywhere.  She 
is  always  so  naughty  with  me."  She  chose  an- 
other cigarette  with  the  words.  "She  is  sure  to 
be  a  pretty  frequent  visitor  while  Tommy  Denvers 
is  here.  She  worships  him." 

"He  is  a  nice  boy,"  observed  Mrs.  Ralston. 
"I  wish  he  could  have  got  longer  leave.  It  would 
have  comforted  Stella  to  have  him." 

' '  I  suppose  she  can  go  down  to  him  at  Kurrum- 
pore  if  she  doesn't  mind  sacrificing  that  rose-leaf 
complexion,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Ermsted,  shutting  her 


The  Ministering  Angel          105 

matchbox  with  a  spiteful  click.  "You  stayed  down 
last  hot  weather." 

"Gerald  was  not  well  and  couldn't  leave  his 
post,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston.  "That  was  different. 
I  felt  he  needed  me." 

"And  so  you  nearly  killed  yourself  to  satisfy 
the  need,"  commented  Mrs.  Ermsted.  "I  some- 
times think  you  are  rather  a  fine  woman,  not- 
withstanding appearances."  She  glanced  at  the 
watch  on  her  wrist.  "By  Jove,  how  late  it  is! 
Your  latest  protegee  will  be  here  immediately.  You 
must  have  been  aching  to  tell  me  to  go  for  the  last 
half -hour.  You  silly  saint !  Why  didn't  you?" 

"I  have  no  wish  for  you  to  go,  dear,  "  responded 
Mrs.  Ralston  tranquilly.  "All  my  visitors  are 
an  honour  to  my  house." 

Mrs.  Ermsted  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  swift, 
elastic  movement.  ' '  Mary,  I  love  you ! "  she  said. 
"You  are  a  ministering  angel,  faithful  friend,  and 
priceless  counsellor,  all  combined.  I  laugh  at  you 
for  a  frump  behind  your  back,  but  when  I  am  with 
you,  I  am  spellbound  with  admiration.  You  are 
really  superb." 

"Thank  you,  dear, "  said  Mrs.  Ralston. 

She  returned  the  impulsive  kiss  bestowed  upon 
her  with  a  funny  look  in  her  blue  eyes  that  might 
almost  have  been  compassionate  if  it  had  not 
been  so  unmistakably  humorous.  She  did  not 
attempt  to  make  the  embrace  a  lingering  one, 
however,  and  Netta  Ermsted  took  her  impetuous 
departure  with  a  piqued  sense  of  uncertainty. 


io6       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"I  wonder  if  she  really  has  got  any  brains  after 
all,"  she  said  aloud,  as  she  sped  away  in  her 
"rickshaw."  "She  is  a  quaint  creature  anyhow. 
I  rather  wonder  that  I  bother  myself  with  her." 

At  which  juncture  she  met  the  Rajah,  resplend- 
ent in  green  puggarree  and  riding  his  favourite 
bay  Arab,  and  forthwith  dismissed  Mrs.  Ralston 
and  all  discreet  counsels  to  the  limbo  of  forgotten 
things.  She  had  dubbed  the  Rajah  her  Arabian 
Knight.  His  name  for  her  was  of  too  intimate 
an  order  to  be  pronounced  in  public.  She  was 
the  Lemon-scented  Lily  of  his  dreams. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE   RETURN 

STELLA'S  first  impression  of  Bhulwana  was  the 
extremely  European  atmosphere  that  pervaded  it. 
Bungalows  and  pine-woods  seemed  to  be  its  main 
characteristics,  and  there  was  about  it  none 
of  the  languorous  Eastern  charm  that  had  so 
haunted  the  forbidden  paradise.  Bhulwana  was 
a  cheerful  place,  and  though  perched  fairly  high 
among  the  hills  of  Markestan  it  was  possible  to 
get  very  hot  there.  For  this  reason  perhaps  all 
the  energies  of  its  visitors  were  directed  towards 
the  organizing  of  gaieties,  and  in  the  height  of  the 
summer  it  was  very  gay  indeed. 

The  Rajah's  summer  palace,  white  and  magnifi- 
cent, occupied  the  brow  of  the  hill,  and  the  bunga- 
lows that  clustered  among  the  pines  below  it 
looked  as  if  there  had  been  some  competition 
among  them  as  to  which  could  get  the  nearest. 

The  Ralstons'  bungalow  was  considerably  lower 
down  the  hill.  It  stood  upon  more  open  ground 
than  most,  and  overlooked  the  race-course  some 
distance  below.  It  was  an  ugly  little  place,  and 
the  small  compound  surrounding  it  was  a  veritable 
107 


io8       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

wilderness.  It  had  been  named  "The  Grand 
Stand"  owing  to  its  position,  but  no  one  less  racy 
than  its  present  occupant  could  well  have  been 
found.  Mrs.  Ralston's  wistful  blue  eyes  seldom 
rested  upon  the  race-course.  They  looked  beyond 
to  the  mist- veiled  plains. 

The  room  she  had  prepared  for  Stella's  recep- 
tion looked  in  an  easterly  direction  towards  the 
winding,  wooded  road  that  led  up  to  the  Rajah's 
residence.  Great  care  had  been  expended  upon 
it.  Her  heart  had  yearned  to  the  girl  ever  since 
she  had  heard  of  her  sudden  bereavement,  and 
her  delight  at  the  thought  of  receiving  her  was 
only  second  to  her  sorrow  upon  Stella's  account. 

Higher  up  the  hill  stood  the  dainty  bungalow 
which  Ralph  Dacre  had  taken  for  his  bride.  The 
thought  of  it  tore  Mrs.  Ralston's  tender  heart. 
She  had  written  an  urgent  epistle  to  Tommy 
imploring  him  not  to  let  his  sister  go  there  in  her 
desolation.  And,  swayed  by  Tommy's  influence, 
and,  it  might  be,  touched  by  Mrs.  Ralston's  own 
earnest  solicitude,  Stella,  not  caring  greatly  whither 
she  went,  had  agreed  to  take  up  her  abode  for  a 
time  at  least  with  the  surgeon's  wife.  There  was 
no  necessity  to  make  any  sudden  decision.  The 
whole  of  her  life  lay  before  her,  a  dreary  waste  of 
desert.  It  did  not  seem  to  matter  at  that  stage 
where  she  spent  those  first  forlorn  months.  She 
was  tired  to  the  soul  of  her,  and  only  wanted  to 
rest. 

She  hoped  vaguely  that  Mrs.  Ralston  would 


The  Return  109 

have  the  tact  to  respect  this  wish  of  hers.  Her 
impression  of  this  the  only  woman  who  had  shown 
her  any  kindness  since  her  arrival  in  India  was 
not  of  a  very  definite  order.  Mrs.  Ralston  with 
her  faded  prettiness  and  gentle,  retiring  ways  did 
not  possess  a  very  arresting  personality.  No  one 
seeing  her  two  or  three  times  could  have  given 
any  very  accurate  description  of  her.  Lady  Harriet 
had  more  than  once  described  her  as  a  negligible 
quantity.  But  Lady  Harriet  systematically  neg- 
lected everyone  who  had  no  pretensions  to  smart- 
ness. She  detested  all  dowdy  women. 

But  Stella  still  remembered  with  gratitude  the 
warmth  of  affectionate  admiration  and  sympathy 
that  had  melted  her  coldness  on  her  wedding-day, 
and  something  within  her,  notwithstanding  her 
utter  weariness,  longed  to  feel  that  warmth  again. 
Though  she  scarcely  realized  it,  she  wanted  the 
clasp  of  motherly  arms,  shielding  her  from  the 
tempest  of  life. 

Tommy,  who  had  met  her  at  Rawal  Pindi  on 
the  dreadful  return  journey,  had  watched  over 
her  and  cared  for  her  comfort  with  the  utmost 
tenderness;  but  Tommy,  like  Peter,  was  somehow 
outside  her  confidence.  He  was  just  a  blundering 
male  with  the  best  intentions.  She  qould  not 
have  opened  her  heart  to  him  had  she  tried.  She 
was  unspeakably  glad  to  have  him  with  her,  and 
later  on  she  hoped  to  join  him  again  at  The  Green 
Bungalow  down  at  Kurrumpore  where  they  had 
dwelt  together  during  the  weeks  preceding  her 


ii*       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

marriage.  For  Tommy  was  the  only  relative 
she  had  in  the  world  who  cared  for  her.  And  she 
was  Tery  fond  of  Tommy,  but  she  was  not  really 
intimate  with  him.  They  were  just  good  com- 
rades. 

As  a  married  woman,  she  no  longer  feared  the 
veiled  shafts  of  malice  that  had  pierced  her  before. 
Her  position  was  assured.  Not  that  she  would 
hare  cared  greatly  in  any  case.  Such  trivial 
things  belonged  to  the  past,  and  she  marvelled 
now  at  the  thought  that  they  had  ever  seriously 
affected  her.  She  was  changed,  greatly  changed. 
In  one  short  month  she  had  left  her  girlhood  behind 
her.  Her  proud  shyness  had  utterly  departed. 
She  had  returned  a  grave,  reserved  woman,  in- 
different, almost  apathetic,  wholly  self-contained. 
Her  natural  stateliness  still  clung  about  her,  but 
she  did  not  cloak  herself  therewith.  She  walked 
rather  as  one  rapt  in  reverie,  looking  neither  to 
the  right  nor  to  the  left. 

Mrs.  Ralston  nearly  wept  when  she  saw  her, 
so  shocked  was  she  by  the  havoc  that  strange 
month  had  wrought.  All  the  soft  glow  of  youth 
had  utterly  passed  away.  White  and  cold  as 
alabaster,  a  woman  empty  and  alone,  she  returned 
from  the  forbidden  paradise,  and  it  seemed  to  Mrs. 
Ralston  at  first  that  the  very  heart  of  her  had 
been  shattered  like  a  beautiful  flower  by  the  closing 
of  the  gates. 

But  later,  when  Stella  had  been  with  her  for  a 
few  hours,  she  realized  that  life  still  throbbed  deep 


The  Return  m 

down  below  the  surface,  though,  perhaps  in  self- 
defence,  it  was  buried  deep,  very  far  from  the 
reach  of  all  casual  investigation.  She  could  not 
speak  of  her  tragedy,  but  she  responded  to  the 
mute  sympathy  Mrs.  Ralston  poured  out  to  her 
with  a  gratitude  that  was  wholly  unfeigned,  and 
the  latter  understood  clearly  that  she  would  not 
refuse  her  admittance  though  she  barred  out  all 
the  world  beside. 

She  was  deeply  touched  by  the  discovery,  re- 
flecting in  her  humility  that  Stella's  need  must 
indeed  have  been  great  to  have  drawn  her  to  her- 
self for  comfort.  It  was  true  that  nearly  all  her 
friends  had  been  made  in  trouble  which  she  had 
sought  to  alleviate,  but  Mary  Ralston  was  too 
lowly  to  ascribe  to  herself  any  virtue  •»  that 
account.  She  only  thanked  God  for  her  «ppor- 
tunities. 

On  the  night  of  their  arrival,  when  Stella  kad 
gone  to  her  room,  Tommy  spoke  very  serioiiBly 
of  his  sister's  state  and  begged  Mrs.  Ralston  to  do 
her  utmost  to  combat  the  apathy  which  ke  fad 
found  himself  wholly  unable  to  pierce. 

"I  haven't  seen  her  shed  a  single  tear,**  ke 
said.  "People  who  didn't  know  would  think  ker 
heartless.  I  can't  bear  to  see  that  deadly  coldiaess. 
It  isn't  Stella." 

"We  must  be  patient,"  Mrs.  Ralston  saicu 

There  were  tears  in  the  boy's  own  eyas  for 
which  she  liked  him,  but  she  did  not  encourage 
him  to  further  confidence.  It  was  not  her  imy  to 


ii2       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

discuss  any  friend  with  a  third  person,  however 
intimate. 

Tommy  left  the  subject  without  realizing  that 
she  had  turned  him  from  it. 

"I  don't  know  in  the  least  how  she  is  left,"  he 
said  restlessly.  "Haven't  an  idea  what  sort  of 
state  Dacre's  affairs  were  in.  I  ought  to  have 
asked  him,  but  I  never  had  the  chance;  and  every- 
thing was  done  in  such  a  mighty  hurry.  I  don't 
suppose  he  had  much  to  leave  if  anything.  It  was 
a  fool  marriage,"  he  ended  bitterly.  "I  always 
hated  it.  Monck  knew  that." 

"Doesn't  Captain  Monck  know  anything?" 
asked  Mrs.  Ralston. 

"Oh,  goodness  knows.  Monck's  away  on  ur- 
gent business,  been  away  for  ever  so  long  now.  I 
haven't  seen  him  since  Dacre's  death.  I  daresay 
he  doesn't  even  know  of  that  yet.  He  had  to  go 
Home.  I  suppose  he  is  on  his  way  back  again 
now;  I  hope  so  anyway.  It's  pretty  beastly 
without  him." 

"Poor  Tommy!"  Mrs.  Ralston's  sympathy  was 
uppermost  again.  "It's  been  a  tragic  business 
altogether.  But  let  us  be  thankful  we  have  dear 
Stella  safely  back !  I  am  going  to  say  good  night  to 
her  now.  Help  yourself  to  anything  you  want!" 

She  went,  and  Tommy  stretched  himself  out 
on  a  long  chair  with  a  sigh  of  discontent  over 
things  in  general.  He  had  had  no  word  from 
Monck  throughout  his  absence,  and  this  was 
almost  the  greatest  grievance  of  all. 


The  Return  113 

Treading  softly  the  passage  that  led  to  Stella's 
door,  Mrs.  Ralston  nearly  stumbled  over  a  crouch- 
ing, white-clad  figure  that  rose  up  swiftly  and 
noiselessly  on  the  instant  and  resolved  itself  into 
the  salaaming  person  of  Peter  the  Sikh.  He  had 
slept  across  Stella's  threshold  ever  since  her 
bereavement. 

"My  mem-sahib  is  still  awake, "  he  told  her  with 
a  touch  of  wistfulness.  "She  sleeps  only  when 
the  night  is  nearly  spent." 

"And  you  sleep  at  her  door?"  queried  Mrs. 
Ralston,  slightly  disconcerted. 

The  tall  form  bent  again  with  dignified  courtesy. 
"That  is  my  privilege,  mem-sahib,  "  said  Peter  the 
Great. 

He  smiled  mournfully,  and  made  way  for  her 
to  pass. 

Mrs.  Ralston  knocked,  and  heard  a  low  voice 
speak  in  answer.  "What  is  it,  Peter?" 

Softly  she  opened  the  door.  "It  is  I,  my  dear. 
Are  you  in  bed?  May  I  come  and  bid  you  good 
night?" 

"Of  course,"  Stella  made  instant  reply.  "How 
good  you  are!  How  kind!" 

A  shaded  night-lamp  was  burning  by  her  side. 
Her  face  upon  the  pillow  was  in  deep  shadow. 
Her  hair  spread  all  around  her,  wrapping  her  as  it 
were  in  mystery. 

As  Mrs.  Ralston  drew  near,  she  stretched  out  a 
welcoming  hand.  "I  hope  my  watch-dog  didn't 
startle  you,"  she  said.  "The  dear  fellow  is  so 


ii4       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

upset  that  I  don't  want  an  ayah,  he  is  doing  his 
best  to  turn  himself  into  one.  I  couldn't  bear  to 
send  him  away.  You  don't  mind?  " 

"My  dear,  I  mind  nothing."  Mrs.  Ralston 
stooped  in  her  warm  way  and  kissed  the  pale, 
still  face.  "Are  you  comfortable?  Have  you 
everything  you  want?" 

"Everything,  thank  you,"  Stella  answered, 
drawing  her  hostess  gently  down  to  sit  on  the  side 
of  the  bed.  "I  feel  rested  already.  Somehow 
your  presence  is  restful." 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  Mrs.  Ralston  flushed  with 
pleasure.  Not  many  were  the  compliments  that 
came  her  way.  "And  you  feel  as  if  you  will  be 
able  to  sleep?" 

Stella's  eyes  looked  unutterably  weary;  yet  she 
shook  her  head.  "No.  I  never  sleep  much 
before  morning.  I  think  I  slept  too  much  when 
I  was  in  Kashmir.  The  days  and  nights  all 
seemed  part  of  one  long  dream. ' '  A  slight  shudder 
assailed  her;  she  repressed  it  with  a  shadowy  smile. 
"Life  here  will  be  very  different,"  she  said. 
"Perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  wake  up  now.  I  am 
not  in  the  least  a  dreamy  person  as  a  rule." 

The  quick  tears  sprang  to  Mrs.  Ralston's  eyes; 
she  stroked  Stella's  hand  without  speaking. 

"I  wanted  to  go  back  to  Kurrumpore  with 
Tommy, "  Stella  went  on,  "but  he  won't  hear  of  it, 
though  he  tells  me  that  you  stayed  there  through 
last  summer.  If  you  could  stand  it,  so  could  I. 
I  feel  sure  that  physically  I  am  much  stronger." 


The  Return  115 

"Oh  no,  dear,  no.  You  couldn't  do  it."  Mrs. 
Ralston  looked  down  upon  the  beautiful  face  very 
tenderly.  "I  am  tough,  you  know,  dried  up  and 
wiry.  And  I  had  a  very  strong  motive.  But  you 
are  different.  You  would  never  stand  a  hot  sea- 
son at  Kurrumpore.  I  can't  tell  you  what  it  is 
like  there.  At  its  worst  it  is  unspeakable.  I  am 
very  glad  that  Tommy  realizes  the  impossibility 
of  it.  No,  no !  Stay  here  with  me  till  I  go  down ! 
I  am  always  the  first.  And  it  will  give  me  so 
much  pleasure  to  take  care  of  you." 

Stella  relinquished  the  discussion  with  a  short 
sigh.  "It  doesn't  seem  to  matter  much  what  I 
do,"  she  said.  "Tommy  certainly  doesn't  need 
me.  No  one  does.  And  I  expect  you  will  soon 
get  very  tired  of  me." 

"Never,  dear,  never."  Mrs.  Ralston's  hand 
clasped  hers  reassuringly.  ' '  Never  think  that  for 
a  moment !  From  the  very  first  day  I  saw  you  I 
have  wanted  to  have  you  to  love  and  care  for." 

A  gleam  of  surprise  crossed  Stella's  face.  ' '  How 
very  kind  of  you!"  she  said. 

"Oh  no,  dear.  It  was  your  own  doing.  You 
are  so  beautiful,"  murmured  the  surgeon's  wife. 
"And  I  knew  that  you  were  the  same  all  through — 
beautiful  to  the  very  soul." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!"  Sharply  Stella  broke 
in  upon  her.  "Don't  think  it!  You  don't  know 
me  in  the  least.  You — you  have  far  more  beauty 
of  soul  than  I  have,  or  can  ever  hope  to  have  now." 

Mrs.  Ralston  shook  her  head. 


n6       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"But  it  is  so,"  Stella  insisted.  "I— What  am 
I?"  A  tremor  of  passion  crept  unawares  into  her 
low  voice.  ' '  I  am  a  woman  who  has  been  denied 
everything.  I  have  been  cast  out  like  Eve,  but 
without  Eve's  compensations.  If  I  had  been 
given  a  child  to  love,  I  might  have  had  hope. 
But  now  I  have  none — I  have  none.  I  am  hard 
and  bitter, — old  before  my  time,  and  I  shall  never 
now  be  anything  else." 

"Oh,  darling,  no!"  Very  swiftly  Mrs.  Ralston 
checked  her.  "Indeed  you  are  wrong.  We  can 
make  of  our  lives  what  we  will.  Believe  me,  the 
barren  woman  can  be  a  joyful  mother  of  children 
if  she  will.  There  is  always  someone  to  love." 

Stella's  lips  were  quivering.  She  turned  her 
face  aside.  "Life  is  very  difficult,  "  she  said. 

"It  gets  simpler  as  one  goes  on,  dear,"  Mrs. 
Ralston  assured  her  gently.  "Not  easy,  oh  no, 
not  easy.  We  were  never  meant  to  make  an 
easy-chair  of  circumstance  however  favourable. 
But  if  we  only  press  on,  it  does  get  simpler,  and 
the  way  opens  out  before  us  as  we  go.  I  have 
learnt  that  at  least  from  life."  She  paused  a 
moment,  then  bent  suddenly  down  and  spoke  into 
Stella's  ear.  "May  I  tell  you  something  about 
myself — something  I  have  never  before  breathed 
to  any  one — except  to  God?" 

Stella  turned  instantly.  "Yes,  tell  me!"  she 
murmured  back,  clasping  closely  the  thin  hand 
that  had  so  tenderly  stroked  her  own. 

Mrs.  Ralston  hesitated  a  second  as  one  who 


The  Return  117 

pauses  before  making  a  supreme  effort.  Then 
under  her  breath  she  spoke  again.  "Perhaps  it 
will  not  interest  you  much.  I  don't  know.  It  is 
only  this.  Like  you,  I  wanted — I  hoped  for — a 
child.  And — I  married  without  loving — just  for 
that.  Stella,  my  sin  was  punished.  The  baby 
came — and  went — and  there  can  never  be  another. 
I  thought  my  heart  was  broken  at  the  time.  Oh, 
it  was  bitter — bitter.  Even  now — sometimes — " 
She  stopped  herself.  "But  no,  I  needn't  trouble 
you  with  that.  I  only  want  to  tell  you  that  very 
beautiful  flowers  bloom  sometimes  out  of  ashes. 
And  it  has  been  so  with  me.  My  rose  of  love  was 
slow  in  growing,  but  it  blossoms  now,  and  I  am 
training  it  over  all  the  blank  spaces.  And  it 
grew  out  of  a  barren  soil,  dear,  out  of  a  barren 
soil." 

Stella's  arms  were  close  about  her  as  she  finished. 
"Oh,  thank  you,"  she  whispered  tremulously, 
"thank  you  for  telling  me  that." 

But  though  she  was  deeply  stirred,  no  further 
confidence  could  she  bring  herself  to  utter.  She 
had  found  a  friend — a  close,  staunch  friend  who 
would  never  fail  her;  but  not  even  to  her  could 
she  show  the  blackness  of  the  gulf  into  which  she 
had  been  hurled.  Even  now  there  were  times  when 
she  seemed  to  be  still  falling,  falling,  and  always, 
waking  or  sleeping,  the  nightmare  horror  of  it 
clung  cold  about  her  soul. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    BARREN    SOIL 

No  one  could  look  askance  at  poor  Ralph 
Dacre's  young  widow.  Lady  Harriet  Mansfield 
graciously  hinted  as  much  when  she  paid  her  state 
call  within  a  week  of  her  arrival.  Also,  she  desired 
to  ascertain  Stella's  plans  for  the  future,  and  when 
she  heard  that  she  intended  to  return  to  Kurrum- 
pore  with  Mrs.  Ralston  she  received  the  news 
with  a  species  of  condescending  approval  that 
seemed  to  indicate  that  Stella's  days  of  probation 
were  past.  With  the  exercise  of  great  care  and 
circumspection  she  might  even  ultimately  be 
admitted  to  the  fortunate  circle  which  sunned 
itself  in  the  light  of  Lady  Harriet's  patronage. 

Tommy  elevated  his  nose  irreverently  when  the 
august  presence  was  withdrawn  and  hoped  that 
Stella  would  not  have  her  head  turned  by  the  royal 
favour.  He  prophesied  that  Mrs.  Burton  would 
be  the  next  to  come  simpering  round,  and  in  this 
he  was  not  mistaken;  but  Stella  did  not  receive 
this  visitor,  for  on  the  following  day  she  was  in 
bed  with  an  attack  of  fever  that  prostrated  her 
during  the  rest  of  his  leave, 
i  is. 


The  Barren  Soil  119 

It  was  not  a  dangerous  illness,  and  Mrs.  Ralston 
nursed  her  through  it  with  a  devotion  that  went 
far  towards  cementing  the  friendship  already  be- 
gun between  them.  Tommy,  though  regretful, 
consoled  himself  by  the  ready  means  of  the  sta- 
tion's gaieties,  played  tennis  with  zest,  inaugurated 
a  gymkhana,  and  danced  practically  every  night 
into  the  early  morning.  He  was  a  delightful 
companion  for  little  Tessa  Ermsted  who  followed 
him  everywhere  and  was  never  snubbed,  an  inquir- 
ing mind  notwithstanding.  Truly  a  nice  boy  was 
Tommy,  as  everyone  agreed,  and  the  regret  was 
general  when  his  leave  began  to  draw  to  a  close. 

On  the  afternoon  of  his  last  day  he  made  his 
appearance  on  the  verandah  of  The  Grand  Stand 
for  tea,  with  his  faithful  attendant  at  his  heels, 
to  find  his  sister  reclining  there  for  the  first  time 
on  a  charpoy  well  lined  with  cushions,  while  Mrs. 
Ralston  presided  at  the  tea-table  beside  her. 

She  looked  the  ghost  of  her  former  self,  and  for 
a  moment  though  he  had  visited  her  in  bed  only 
that  morning,  Tommy  was  rudely  startled. 

"Great  Jupiter!"  he  ejaculated.  "How  ill  you 
look!" 

She  smiled  at  his  exclamation,  while  his  small, 
sharp-faced  companion  pricked  up  attentive  ears. 
"Do  people  look  like  that  when  they're  going  to 
die?"  she  asked. 

"Not  in  the  least,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston 
tranquilly.  "Come  and  speak  to  Mrs.  Dacre 
and  tell  us  what  you  have  been  doing!" 


120       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

But  Tessa  would  only  stand  on  one  leg  and 
stare,  till  Stella  put  forth  a  friendly  hand  and 
beckoned  her  to  a  corner  of  her  charpoy. 

She  went  then,  still  staring  with  wide  round 
eyes  of  intensest  blue  that  gazed  out  of  a  some- 
what pinched  little  face  of  monkey-like  intelligence. 

"What  have  you  and  Tommy  been  doing?" 
Stella  asked. 

"Oh,  just  hobnobbing,"  said  Tessa.  "Same  as 
Mother  and  the  Rajah." 

"Have  some  cake!"  said  Tommy.  "And  tell 
us  all  about  the  mongoose!" 

"Oh,  Scooter!  He's  such  a  darling!  Shall  I 
bring  him  to  see  you?"  asked  Tessa,  lifting  those 
wonderful  unchildlike  eyes  of  hers  to  Stella's. 
"You'd  love  him!  I  know  you  would.  He  talks 
— almost.  Captain  Monck  gave  him  to  me.  I 
never  liked  him  before,  but  I  do  now.  I  wish  he'd 
come  back,  and  so  does  Tommy.  Don't  you 
think  he's  a  nice  man?" 

"I  don't  know  him  very  well,"  said  Stella. 

"Oh,  don't  you?  That's  because  he's  so  quiet 
I  used  to  think  he  was  surly.  But  he  isn't  really. 
He's  only  shy.  Is  he,  Aunt  Mary?"  The  blue 
eyes  whisked  •  round  to  Mrs.  Ralston  and  were 
met  by  a  slightly  reproving  shake  of  the  head. 
"No,  but  really,"  Tessa  protested,  "he  is  a  nice 
man.  Tommy  says  so.  Mother  doesn't  like 
him,  but  that's  nothing  to  go  by.  The  people 
she  likes  are  hardly  ever  nice.  Daddy  says  so." 

"Tessa,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston  gently,  "we  don't 


The  Barren  Soil  121 

want  to  hear  about  that.  Tell  us  some  more  about 
Captain  Monck's  mongoose  instead !" 

Tessa  frowned  momentarily.  Such  nursery  dis- 
cipline was  something  of  an  insult  to  her  eight 
years'  dignity,  but  in  a  second  she  sent  a  dazzling 
smile  to  her  hostess,  accepting  the  rebuff.  "All 
right,  Aunt  Mary,  I'll  bring  him  to  see  you  to- 
morrow, shall  I?"  she  said  brightly.  "Mrs. 
Dacre  will  like  that  too.  It'll  be  something  to 
amuse  us  when  Tommy's  gone." 

Tommy  looked  across  with  a  grin.  "Yes,  keep 
your  spirits  up!"  he  said.  "It's  dull  work  with 
the  boys  away,  isn't  it,  Aunt  Mary?  And  Scooter 
is  a  most  sagacious  animal — almost  as  intelligent 
as  Peter  the  Great  who  coils  himself  on  Stella's 
threshold  every  night  as  if  he  thought  the  bogey- 
man was  coming  to  spirit  her  away.  He's  develop- 
ing into  a  habit,  isn't  he  Stella?  You'd  better  be 
careful." 

Stella  smiled  her  faint,  tired  smile.  "I  like  to 
have  him  there,"  she  said.  "I  am  not  nervous, 
of  course,  but  he  is  a  friend." 

"You'll  never  shake  him  off, "  predicted  Tommy. 
"He  comes  of  a  romantic  stock.  Hullo!  Here  is 
his  high  mightiness  with  the  mail!  Look  at  the 
sparkle  in  Aunt  Mary's  eyes!  Did  you  ever  see 
the  like?  She  expects  to  draw  a  prize  evidently." 

He  stretched  a  leisurely  arm  and  took  the  letter 
from  the  salver  that  the  Indian  extended.  It  was 
for  Mrs.  Ralston,  and  she  received  it  blushing 
like  an  eager  girl. 


122       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Why  does  Aunt  Mary  look  like  that?"  piped 
Tessa,  ever  observant.  ' '  It's  only  from  the  Major. 
Mother  never  looks  like  that  when  Daddy  writes 
to  her." 

"Perhaps  Daddy's  letters  are  not  so  interesting," 
suggested  Tommy. 

Tessa  chuckled.  "Shall  I  tell  you  what? 
She'd  ever  so  much  rather  have  a  letter  from  the 
Rajah.  I  know  she  would.  She  keeps  his  locked 
up,  but  she  never  bothers  about  Daddy's.  I  can't 
think  what  the  Rajah  finds  to  write  about  when 
they  are  always  meeting.  I  think  it's  silly,  don't 
you?" 

"Very  silly,"  said  Tommy.  "I  hate  writing 
letters  myself.  Beastly  dull  work." 

' '  Perhaps  you  will  excuse  me  while  I  read  mine,  " 
said  Mrs.  Ralston. 

Stella  smiled  at  her.  "Oh  do!  Perhaps  there 
will  be  some  interesting  news  of  Kurrumpore  in 
it." 

"News  of  Monck  perhaps,"  suggested  Tommy. 
"There's  a  fellow  who  never  writes  a  letter.  I 
haven't  the  faintest  idea  where  he  is  or  what  he  is 
doing,  except  that  he  went  to  his  brother  some- 
where in  England.  He  is  due  back  in  about  a 
fortnight,  but  I  probably  shan't  hear  a  word  of 
him  until  he's  there." 

"You  have  not  written  to  him  either?"  ques- 
tioned Stella. 

"I  couldn't.  I  didn't  know  where  to  write." 
Tommy's  eyes  met  hers  with  slight  hesitation. 


The  Barren  Soil  123 

'I  haven't  been  able  to  tell  him  anything  of  our 
affairs.  It's  quite  possible  though  that  he  will 
have  heard  before  he  gets  back  to  The  Green 
Bungalow.  He  generally  gets  hold  of  things." 

"It  need  not  make  any  difference."  Stella 
spoke  slowly,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  green  race- 
course that  gleamed  in  the  sun  below  them.  "So 
far  as  I  am  concerned,  he  is  quite  welcome  to 
remain  at  The  Green  Bungalow.  I  daresay  we 
should  not  get  in  each  other's  way.  That  is," 
she  looked  at  her  brother,  "if  you  prefer  that 
arrangement." 

"I  say,  that's  jolly  decent  of  you!"  Tommy's 
face  was  flushed  with  pleasure.  ' '  Sure  you  mean 
it?" 

"Quite  sure."  Stella  spoke  rather  wearily. 
"It  really  doesn't  matter  to  me — except  that  I 
don't  want  to  come  between  you  and  your  friend. 
Now  that  I  have  been  married — "  a  tinge  of 
bitterness  sounded  in  her  voice — "I  suppose  no 
one  will  take  exception.  But  of  course  Captain 
Monck  may  see  the  matter  in  a  different  light. 
If  so,  pray  let  him  do  as  he  thinks  fit ! " 

' '  You  bet  he  will ! ' '  said  Tommy.  ' '  He's  about 
the  most  determined  cuss  that  ever  lived." 

"He's  a  very  nice  man, "  put  in  Tessa  jealously. 

Tommy  laughed.  "He's  one  of  the  best,"  he 
agreed  heartily.  "And  he's  the  sort  that  always 
comes  out  on  top  sooner  or  later.  Just  you  re- 
member that,  Tessa!  He's  a  winner,  and  he's 
straight — straight  as  a  die." 


124       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Which  is  all  that  matters, "  said  Mrs.  Ralston, 
without  lifting  her  eyes  from  her  letter. 

"Hear,  hear!"  said  Tommy.  "Why  do  you 
look  like  that,  Stella?  Mean  to  say  he  isn't 
straight  ? ' ' 

"I  didn't  say  anything."  Stella  still  spoke 
wearily,  albeit  she  was  faintly  smiling.  "I  was 
only  wondering." 

"Wondering  what?"  Tommy's  voice  had  a  hint 
of  sharpness ;  he  looked  momentarily  aggressive. 

"Just  wondering  how  much  you  knew  of  him, 
that's  all, "  she  made  answer. 

"I  know  as  much  as  any  one, "  asserted  Tommy 
quickly.  "He's  a  man  to  be  honoured.  I'd  stake 
my  life  on  that.  He  is  incapable  of  anything  mean 
or  underhand." 

Stella  was  silent.  The  boy's  faith  was  genuine, 
she  knew,  but,  remembering  what  Ralph  Dacre 
had  told  her  on  their  last  night  together,  she  could 
not  stifle  the  wonder  as  to  whether  Tommy  had 
ever  grasped  the  actual  quality  of  his  friend's 
character.  It  seemed  to  her  that  Tommy's  wor- 
ship was  of  too  humble  a  species  to  afford  him 
a  very  comprehensive  view  of  the  object  thereof. 
She  was  sure  that  unlike  herself — he  would  never 
presume  to  criticize,  would  never  so  much  as 
question  any  action  of  Monck's.  Her  own  con- 
ception of  the  man,  she  was  aware,  had  altered 
somewhat  since  that  night.  She  regarded  him 
now  with  a  wholly  dispassionate  interest.  She 
had  attracted  him,  but  she  much  doubted  if  the 


The  Barren  Soil  125 

attraction  had  survived  her  marriage.  For  her- 
self, that  chapter  in  her  life  was  closed  and  could 
never,  she  now  believed,  be  reopened.  Monck 
had  gone  his  way,  she  hers,  and  they  had  drifted 
apart.  Only  by  the  accident  of  circumstance 
would  they  meet  again,  and  she  was  determined 
that  when  this  meeting  took  place  their  relations 
should  be  of  so  impersonal  a  character  that  he 
should  find  it  well-nigh  impossible  to  recall  the 
fact  that  any  hint  of  romance  had  ever  hovered 
even  for  a  fleeting  moment  between  them.  He  had 
his  career  before  him.  He  followed  the  way  of 
ambition,  and  he  should  continue  to  follow  it, 
unhindered  by  any  thought  of  her.  She  was 
dependent  upon  no  man.  She  would  pick  up  the 
threads  of  her  own  life  and  weave  of  it  something 
that  should  be  worth  while.  With  the  return 
of  health  this  resolution  was  forming  within  her. 
Mrs.  Ralston's  influence  was  making  itself  felt. 
She  believed  that  the  way  would  open  out  before 
her  as  she  went.  She  had  made  one  great  mistake. 
She  would  never  make  such  another.  She  would 
be  patient.  It  might  be  in  time  that  to  her,  even 
as  to  her  friend,  a  blossoming  might  come  out  of 
the  barren  soil  in  which  her  lif  e  was  cast. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE   SUMMONS 

DURING  those  months  spent  at  Bhulwana  with 
the  surgeon's  wife  a  measure  of  peace  did  gradu- 
ally return  to  Stella.  She  took  no  part  in  the 
gaieties  of  the  station,  but  her  widow's  mourning 
made  it  easy  for  her  to  hold  aloof.  Undoubtedly 
she  earned  Lady  Harriet's  approval  by  so  doing, 
but  Mrs.  Ermsted  continued  to  look  at  her 
askance,  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  her  small 
daughter  had  developed  a  warm  liking  for  the 
sister  of  her  beloved  Tommy. 

"Wait  till  she  gets  back  to  Kurrumpore, "  said 
Mrs.  Ermsted.  "We  shall  see  her  in  her  true 
colours  then." 

She  did  not  say  this  to  Mrs.  Ralston.  She 
visited  The  Grand  Stand  less  and  less  frequently. 
She  was  always  full  of  engagements  and  seldom 
had  a  moment  to  spare  for  the  society  of  this 
steady  friend  of  hers.  And  Mrs.  Ralston  never 
sought  her  out.  It  was  not  her  way.  She  was 
ready  for  all,  but  she  intruded  upon  none. 

Mrs.  Ralston' s  affection  for  Stella  had  become 
very  deep.  There  was  between  them  a  sympathy 
126 


The  Summons  127 

that  was  beyond  words.  They  understood  each 
other. 

As  the  wet  season  drew  on,  their  companionship 
became  more  and  more  intimate  though  their 
spoken  confidences  were  few.  Mrs.  Ralston  never 
asked  for  confidences  though  she  probably  re- 
ceived more  than  any  other  woman  in  the  station. 

It  was  on  a  day  in  September  of  drifting  clouds 
and  unbroken  rain  that  Stella  spoke  at  length  of  a 
resolution  that  had  been  gradually  forming  in  her 
mind.  She  found  no  difficulty  in  speaking;  in 
fact  it  seemed  the  natural  thing  to  do.  And  she 
felt  even  as  she  gave  utterance  to  the  words  that 
Mrs.  Ralston  already  knew  their  import. 

"Mary,"  she  said,  "after  Christmas  I  am  going 
back  to  England." 

Mrs.  Ralston  betrayed  no  surprise.  She  was 
in  the  midst  of  an  elaborate  darn  in  the  heel  of  a 
silk  sock.  She  looked  across  at  Stella  gravely. 

"And  when  you  get  there,  my  dear?"  she  said. 

"I  shall  find  some  work  to  do."  Stella  spoke 
with  the  decision  of  one  who  gives  utterance  to 
the  result  of  careful  thought.  "I  think  I  shall 
go  in  for  hospital  training.  It  is  hard  work,  I 
know;  but  I  am  strong.  I  think  hard  work  is 
what  I  need." 

Mrs.  Ralston  was  silent. 

Stella  went  on.  "I  see  now  that  I  made  a  mis- 
take in  ever  coming  out  here.  It  wasn't  as  if 
Tommy  really  wanted  me.  He  doesn't,  you  know. 
His  friend  Captain  Monck  is  all-sufficing — and 


128       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

probably  better  for  him.  In  any  case — he  doesn't 
need  me." 

"You  may  be  right,  dear,"  Mrs.  Ralston  said, 
"though  I  doubt  if  Tommy  would  view  it  in  the 
same  light.  I  am  glad  anyhow  that  you  will 
spend  Christmas  out  here.  I  shall  not  lose  you  so 
soon." 

Stella  smiled  a  little.  "I  don't  want  to  hurt 
Tommy's  feelings,  and  I  know  they  would  be  hurt 
if  I  went  sooner.  Besides  I  would  like  to  have 
one  cold  weather  out  here." 

"And  why  not?"  said  Mrs.  Ralston.  She 
added  after  a  moment,  "What  will  you  do  with 
Peter?" 

Stella  hesitated.  "That  is  one  reason  why  I 
have  not  come  to  a  decision  sooner.  I  don't  like 
leaving  poor  Peter.  It  occurred  to  me  possibly 
that  down  at  Kurrumpore  he  might  find  another 
master.  Anyway,  I  shall  tell  him  my  plans  when  I 
get  there,  and  he  will  have  the  opportunity" — she 
smiled  rather  sadly — "to  transfer  his  devotion 
to  someone  else." 

"He  won't  take  it,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston  with 
conviction.  "The  fidelity  of  these  men  is  amaz- 
ing. It  puts  us  to  shame." 

"I  hate  the  thought  of  parting  with  him," 
Stella  said.  "But  what  can  I  do?" 

She  broke  off  short  as  the  subject  of  their  dis- 
cussion came  softly  into  the  room,  salver  in  hand. 
He  gave  her  a  telegram  and  stood  back  decorously 
behind  her  chair  while  she  opened  it. 


The  Summons  129 

Mrs.  Ralston 's  grave  eyes  watched  her,  and  in  a 
moment  Stella  looked  up  and  met  them.  "From 
Kurrumpore, "  she  said. 

Her  face  was  pale,  but  her  hands  and  voice 
were  steady. 

"From  Tommy?"  questioned  Mrs.  Ralston. 

"No.  From  Captain  Monck.  Tommy  is  ill — 
very  ill.  Malaria  again.  He  thinks  I  had  better 
go  to  him." 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  Mrs.  Ralston's  exclamation 
held  dismay. 

Stella  met  it  by  holding  out  to  her  the  message. 
"Tommy  down  with  malaria,"  it  said.  "Condi- 
tion serious.  Come  if  you  are  able.  Monck." 

Mrs.  Ralston  rose.  She  seemed  to  be  more 
agitated  than  Stella.  "I  shall  go  too,"  she 
said. 

"No,  dear,  no!"  Stella  stopped  her.  "There  is 
no  need  for  that.  I  shall  be  all  right.  I  am 
perfectly  strong  now,  stronger  than  you  are. 
And  they  say  malaria  never  attacks  newcomers  so 
badly.  No.  I  will  go  alone.  I  won't  be  answer- 
able to  your  husband  for  you.  Really,  dear, 
really,  I  am  in  earnest." 

Her  insistence  prevailed,  albeit  Mrs.  Ralston 
yielded  very  unwillingly.  She  was  not  very  strong, 
and  she  knew  well  that  her  husband  would  be 
greatly  averse  to  her  taking  such  a  step.  But  the 
thought  of  Stella  going  alone  was  even  harder  to 
face  till  her  look  suddenly  fell  upon  Peter  the 
Great  standing  motionless  behind  her  chair. 


130       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Ah  well,  you  will  have  Peter,"  she  said  with 
relief. 

And  Stella,  who  was  bending  already  over  her 
reply  telegram,  replied  instantly  with  one  of  her 
rare  smiles.  "Of  course  I  shall  have  Peter!" 

Peter's  responding  smile  was  good  to  see.  "I 
will  take  care  of  my  mem-sahib,"  he  said. 

Stella's  reply  was  absolutely  simple.  "Starting 
at  once,"  she  wrote;  and  within  half  an  hour  her 
preparations  were  complete. 

She  knew  Monck  well  enough  to  be  certain 
that  he  would  not  have  telegraphed  that  urgent 
message  had  not  the  need  been  great.  He  had 
nursed  Tommy  once  before,  and  she  knew  that  in 
Tommy's  estimation  at  least  he  had  been  the 
means  of  saving  his  life.  He  was  a  man  of  steady 
nerve  and  level  judgment.  He  would  not  have 
sent  for  her  if  his  faith  in  his  own  powers  had  not 
begun  to  weaken.  It  meant  that  Tommy  was  very 
ill,  that  he  might  be  dying.  All  that  was  great  in 
Stella  rose  up  impulsively  at  the  call.  Tommy  had 
never  really  wanted  her  before. 

To  Mrs.  Ralston  who  at  the  last  stood  over  her 
with  a  glass  of  wine  she  was  as  a  different  woman. 
There  was  nothing  headlong  about  her,  but  the 
quiet  energy  of  her  made  her  realize  that  she 
had  been  fashioned  for  better  things  than  the 
social  gaieties  with  which  so  many  were  content. 
Stella  would  go  to  the  deep  heart  of  life. 

She  yearned  to  accompany  her  upon  her  journey 
to  the  plains,  but  Stella's  solemn  promise  to  send 


The  Summons  131 

for  her  if  she  were  taken  ill  herself  consoled  her 
in  a  measure.  Very  regretfully  did  she  take  leave 
of  her,  and  when  the  rattle  of  the  wheels  that  bore 
Stella  and  the  faithful  Peter  away  had  died  at 
last  in  the  distance  she  turned  back  into  her 
empty  bungalow  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  Stella 
had  become  dear  to  her  as  a  sister. 

It  was  an  all-night  journey,  and  only  a  part  of 
it  could  be  accomplished  by  train,  the  line  ending 
at  Khanmulla  which  was  reached  in  the  early 
hours  of  the  morning.  But  for  Peter's  ministrations 
Stella  would  probably  have  fared  ill,  but  he  was 
an  experienced  traveller  and  surrounded  her  with 
every  comfort  that  he  could  devise.  The  night 
was  close  and  dank.  They  travelled  through  pitch 
darkness.  Stella  lay  back  and  tried  to  sleep;  but 
sleep  would  not  come  to  her.  She  was  tired,  but 
repose  eluded  her.  The  beating  of  the  unceasing 
rain  upon  the  tin  roof,  and  the  perpetual  rattle  of 
the  train  made  an  endless  tattoo  in  her  brain  from 
which  there  was  no  escape.  She  was  haunted  by 
the  memory  of  the  last  journey  that  she  had  made 
along  that  line  when  leaving  Kurrumpore  in  the 
spring,  of  Ralph  and  the  ever-growing  passion  in 
his  eyes,  of  the  first  wild  revolt  within  her  which 
she  had  so  barely  quelled.  How  far  away  seemed 
those  days  of  an  almost  unbelievable  torture! 
She  could  regard  them  now  dispassionately,  albeit 
with  wonder.  She  marvelled  now  that  she  had 
ever  given  herself  to  such  a  man.  By  the  light  of 
experience  she  realized  how  tragic  had  been  her 


i32       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

blunder,  and  now  that  the  awful  sense  of  shock 
and  desolation  had  passed  she  could  be  thankful 
that  no  heavier  penalty  had  been  exacted.  The 
man  had  been  taken  swiftly,  mercifully,  as  she 
believed.  He  had  been  spared  much,  and  she — 
she  had  been  delivered  from  a  fate  far  worse. 
For  she  could  never  have  come  to  love  him.  She 
was  certain  of  that.  Lifelong  misery  would  have 
been  her  portion,  school  herself  to  submission 
though  she  might.  She  believed  that  the  awaken- 
ing from  that  dream  of  lethargy  could  not  have 
been  long  deferred  for  either  of  them,  and  with  it 
would  have  come  a  bitterness  immeasurable. 
She  did  not  think  he  had  ever  honestly  believed 
that  she  loved  him.  But  at  least  he  had  never 
guessed  at  the  actual  repulsion  with  which  at  times 
she  had  been  filled.  She  was  thankful  to  think 
that  he  could  never  know  that  now,  thankful 
that  now  she  had  come  into  her  womanhood  it 
was  all  her  own.  She  valued  her  freedom  almost 
extravagantly  since  it  had  been  given  back  to 
her.  And  she  also  valued  the  fact  that  in  no 
worldly  sense  was  she  the  richer  for  having  been 
Ralph  Dacre's  wife.  He  had  had  no  private 
means,  and  she  was  thankful  that  this  was  so. 
She  could  not  have  endured  to  reap  any  benefit 
from  what  she  now  regarded  as  a  sin.  She  had 
borne  her  punishment,  she  had  garnered  her 
experience.  And  now  she  walked  once  more  with 
unshackled  feet ;  and  though  all  her  life  she  would 
carry  the  marks  of  the  chain  that  had  galled  her 


The  Summons  133 

she  had  travelled  far  enough  to  realize  and  be 
thankful  for  her  liberty. 

The  train  rattled  on  through  the  night.  Anxiety 
came,  wraith-like  at  first,  drifting  into  her  busy 
brain.  She  had  hardly  had  time  to  be  anxious 
in  the  rush  of  preparation  and  departure.  But 
restlessness  paved  the  way.  She  began  to  ask 
herself  with  growing  uneasiness  what  could  be 
awaiting  her  at  the  end  of  the  journey.  The 
summons  had  been  so  clear  and  imperative.  Her 
first  thought,  her  instinct,  had  been  to  obey.  Till 
the  enforced  inaction  of  this  train  journey  she  had 
not  had  time  to  feel  the  gnawing  torture  of  suspense. 
But  now  it  came  and  racked  her.  The  thought 
of  Tommy  and  his  need  became  paramount. 
Did  he  know  that  she  was  hastening  to  him,  she 
wondered?  Or  had  he — had  he  already  passed 
beyond  her  reach?  Men  passed  so  quickly  in 
this  tropical  wilderness.  The  solemn  music  of  an 
anthem  she  had  known  and  loved  in  the  old  far- 
off  days  of  her  girlhood  rose  and  surged  through 
her.  She  found  herself  repeating  the  words: 

"  Our  life  is  but  a  shadow; 

So  soon  passeth  it  away, 
And  we  are  gone, — 
So  soon, — so  soon." 

The  repetition  of  those  last  words  rang  like 
a  knell.  But  Tommy!  She  could  not  think  of 
Tommy's  eager  young  life  passing  so.  Those 
words  were  written  for  the  old  and  weary.  But 


134       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

for  such  as  Tommy — a  thousand  times  No!  He 
was  surely  too  ardent,  too  full  of  life,  to  pass  so. 
She  felt  as  if  he  were  years  younger  than  herself. 

And  then  another  thought  came  to  her,  a  cu- 
rious haunting  thought.  Was  the  Nemesis  that 
had  overtaken  her  in  the  forbidden  paradise  yet 
pursuing  her  with  relentless  persistence?  Was  the 
measure  of  her  punishment  not  yet  complete  ?  Did 
some  further  vengeance  still  follow  her  in  the  wil- 
derness of  her  desolation?  She  tried  to  fling  the 
thought  from  her,  but  it  clung  like  an  evil  dream. 
She  could  not  wholly  shake  off  the  impression  that 
it  had  made  upon  her. 

Slowly  the  night  wore  away.  The  heat  was 
intense.  She  felt  as  if  she  were  sitting  in  a  tank 
of  steaming  vapour.  The  oppression  of  the  at- 
mosphere was  like  a  physical  weight.  And  ever 
the  rain  beat  down,  rattling,  incessant,  upon  the 
tin  roof  above  her  head.  She  thought  of  Nemesis 
again.  Nemesis  wielding  an  iron  flail  that  never 
missed  its  mark.  There  was  something  terrible 
to  her  in  this  perpetual  beating  of  rain.  She  had 
never  imagined  anything  like  it. 

It  was  in  the  dark  of  the  early  morning  that  she 
began  at  last  to  near  her  destination.  A  ten-mile 
drive  through  the  jungle  awaited  her,  she  knew. 
She  wondered  if  Monck  had  made  provision  for 
this  or  if  all  arrangements  would  be  left  in  Peter's 
capable  hands.  She  had  never  felt  more  thankful 
for  this  trusty  servant  of  hers  than  now  with  the 
loneliness  and  darkness  of  this  unfamiliar  world 


The  Summons  135 

hedging  her  round.  She  felt  almost  as  one  in  a 
hostile  country,  and  even  the  thought  of  Tommy 
and  his  need  could  not  dispel  the  impression. 

The  train  rattled  into  the  little  iron-built  sta- 
tion of  Khanmulla.  The  rainfall  seemed  to  in- 
crease as  they  stopped.  It  was  like  the  beating 
of  rods  upon  the  station-roof.  There  came  the 
usual  hubbub  of  discordant  cries,  but  in  foreign 
voices  and  in  a  foreign  tongue. 

Stella  gathered  her  property  together  in  readi- 
ness for  Peter.  Then  she  turned,  somewhat  stiff 
after  her  long  journey,  and  found  the  door  already 
swinging  open  and  a  man's  broad  shoulders  block- 
ing the  opening. 

"How  do  you  do?"  said  Monck. 

She  started  at  the  sound  of  his  voice.  His 
face  was  in  the  shadow,  but  in  a  moment  his 
features,  dark  and  dominant,  flashed  to  her  mem- 
ory. She  bent  to  him  swiftly,  with  outstretched 
hand. 

"How  good  of  you  to  meet  me!  How  is 
Tommy?" 

He  held  her  hand  for  an  instant,  and  she  was 
aware  of  a  sharp  tingling  throughout  her  being,  as 
though  by  means  of  that  strong  grasp  he  had  im- 
parted strength.  "He  is  about  as  bad  as  a  man 
can  be, "  he  said.  "Ralston  has  been  with  him  all 
night.  I've  borrowed  his  two-seater  to  fetch  you. 
Don't  waste  any  time!" 

Her  heart  gave  a  throb  of  dismay.  The  brief 
words  were  as  flail-like  as  the  rain.  They  de- 


136       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

manded  no  answer,  and  she  made  none;  only 
instant  submission,  and  that  she  gave. 

She  had  a  glimpse  of  Peter's  tall  form  standing 
behind  Monck,  and  to  him  for  a  moment  she 
turned  as  she  descended. 

"You  will  see  to  everything?"  she  said.  "You 
will  follow." 

"Leave  all  to  me,  my  mem-sahib!"  he  said, 
deeply  bowing ;  and  she  took  him  at  his  word. 

Monck  had  a  military  overcoat  on  his  arm  in 
which  he  wrapped  her  before  they  left  the  station- 
shelter.  Ralston  *s  little  two-seater  car  shed 
dazzling  beams  of  light  through  the  dripping 
dark.  She  floundered  blindly  into  a  pool  of  water 
before  she  reached  it,  and  war.  doubly  startled  by 
Monck  lifting  her  bodily,  without  apology,  out  of 
the  mire,  and  placing  her  on  the  seat.  The  beat 
of  the  rain  upon  the  hood  made  her  wonder  if 
they  could  make  any  headway  under  it.  And 
then,  while  she  was  still  wondering,  the  engine 
began  to  throb  like  a  living  thing,  and  she  was 
aware  of  Monck  squeezing  past  her  to  his  seat  at 
the  wheel. 

He  did  not  speak,  but  he  wrapped  the  rug  firmly 
about  her,  and  almost  before  she  had  time  to  thank 
him,  they  were  in  motion. 

That  night-ride  was  one  of  the  wildest  experi- 
ences that  she  had  ever  known.  Monck  went 
like  the  wind.  The  road  wound  through  the 
jungle,  and  in  many  places  was  little  more  than  a 
rough  track.  The  car  bumped  and  jolted,  and 


The  Summons  137 

seemed  to  cry  aloud  for  mercy.  But  Monck  did 
not  spare,  and  Stella  crouched  beside  him,  too  full 
of  wonder  to  be  afraid. 

They  emerged  from  the  jungle  at  length  and  ran 
along  an  open  road  between  wide  fields  of  rice  or 
cotton.  Their  course  became  easier,  and  Stella 
realized  that  they  were  nearing  the  end  of  their 
journey.  They  were  approaching  the  native 
portion  of  Kurrumpore. 

She  turned  to  the  silent  man  beside  her.  "Is 
Tommy  expecting  me?"  she  asked. 

He  did  not  answer  her  immediately;  then,  "He 
was  practically  unconscious  when  I  left, "  he  said. 

He  put  on  speed  with  the  words.  They  shot 
forward  through  the  pelting  rain  at  a  terrific 
pace.  She  divined  that  his  anxiety  was  such 
that  he  did  not  wish  to  talk. 

They  passed  through  the  native  quarter  as  if 
on  wings.  The  rain  fell  in  a  deluge  here.  It  was 
like  some  power  of  darkness  striving  to  beat  them 
back.  She  pictured  Monck's  face,  grim,  ruthless, 
forcing  his  way  through  the  opposing  element. 
The  man  himself  she  could  barely  see. 

And  then,  almost  before  she  realized  it,  they 
were  in  the  European  cantonment,  and  she  heard 
the  grinding  of  the  brakes  as  they  reached  the 
gate  of  The  Green  Bungalow.  Monck  turned  the 
little  car  into  the  compound,  and  a  light  shone 
down  upon  them  from  the  verandah. 

The  car  came  to  a  standstill.  "Do  you  mind 
getting  out  first?"  said  Monck. 


138       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  got  out  with  a  dazed  sense  of  unreality. 
He  followed  her  immediately;  his  hand,  hard  and 
muscular,  grasped  her  arm.  He  led  her  up  the 
wooden  steps  all  shining  and  slippery  in  the  rain. 

In  the  shelter  of  the  verandah  he  stopped. 
"Wait  here  a  moment!"  he  said. 

But  Stella  turned  swiftly,  detaining  him.  "No, 
no!"  she  said.  "I  am  coming  with  you.  I  would 
rather  know  at  once." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  without  remon- 
strance, and  stood  back  for  her  to  precede  him. 
Later  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  was  the  most  merci- 
ful thing  he  could  have  done.  At  the  time  she  did 
not  pause  to  thank  him,  but  went  swiftly  past, 
taking  her  way  straight  along  the  verandah  to 
Tommy's  room. 

The  window  was  open,  and  a  bar  of  light 
stretched  therefrom  like  a  fiery  sword  into  the 
streaming  rain.  Just  for  a  second  that  gleaming 
shaft  daunted  her.  Something  within  her  shrank 
affrighted.  Then,  aware  of  Monck  immediately 
behind  her,  she  conquered  her  dread  and  entered. 
She  saw  that  the  bar  of  light  came  from  a  hooded 
lamp  which  was  turned  towards  the  window,  leav- 
ing the  bed  in  shadow.  Over  the  latter  a  man  was 
bending.  He  straightened  himself  sharply  at  her 
approach,  and  she  recognized  Major  Ralston. 

And  then  she  had  reached  the  bed,  and  all  the 
love  in  her  heart  pulsed  forth  in  yearning  tender- 
ness as  she  stooped.  ' '  Tommy ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  My 
darling!" 


The  Summons  139 

He  did  not  stir  in  answer.  He  lay  like  a  figure 
carved  in  marble.  Suddenly  the  rays  of  the  lamp 
were  turned  upon  him,  and  she  saw  that  his  face 
was  livid.  The  eyes  were  closed  and  sunken. 
A  terrible  misgiving  stabbed  her.  Almost  in- 
voluntarily she  drew  back. 

In  the  same  moment  she  felt  Monck's  hands 
upon  her.  He  was  unbuttoning  the  overcoat  in 
which  she  was  wrapped.  She  stood  motionless, 
feeling  cold,  powerless,  strangely  dependent  upon 
him. 

As  he  stripped  the  coat  back  from  her  shoulders, 
he  spoke,  his  voice  very  measured  and  quiet,  but 
kind  also,  even  soothing. 

"Don't  give  up!"  he  said.  "We'll  pull  him 
through  between  us." 

A  queer  little  thrill  went  through  her.  Again 
she  felt  as  if  he  had  imparted  strength.  She 
turned  back  to  the  bed. 

Major  Ralston  was  on  the  other  side.  Across 
that  silent  form  he  spoke  to  her. 

"See  if  you  can  get  him  to  take  this!  I  am 
afraid  he's  past  it.  But  try!" 

She  saw  that  he  was  holding  a  spoon,  and  she 
commanded  herself  and  took  it  from  him.  She 
wondered  at  the  steadiness  of  her  own  hand  as  she 
put  it  to  the  white,  unconscious  lips.  They  were 
rigidly  closed,  and  for  a  few  moments  she  thought 
her  task  was  hopeless.  Then  very  slowly  they 
parted.  She  slipped  the  spoon  between. 

The  silence  in  the  room  was  deathly,  the  heat 


i4°       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

intense,  heavy,  pall-like.  Outside,  the  rain  fell 
monotonously,  and,  mingling  with  its  beating,  she 
heard  the  croaking  of  innumerable  frogs.  Neither 
Ralston  nor  Monck  stirred  a  finger.  They  were 
watching  closely  with  bated  breath. 

Tommy's  breathing  was  wholly  imperceptible, 
but  in  that  long,  long  pause  she  fancied  she  saw  a 
slight  tremor  at  his  throat.  Then  the  liquid  that 
had  been  in  the  spoon  began  to  trickle  out  at  the 
corner  of  his  mouth. 

She  stood  up,  turning  instinctively  to  the  man 
beside  her.  ' '  Oh,  it's  no  use, "  she  said  hopelessly. 

He  bent  swiftly  forward.  ' '  Let  me  try !  Quick, 
Ralston!  Have  it  ready!  That's  it.  Now  then, 
Tommy !  Now,  lad ! ' ' 

He  had  taken  her  place  almost  before  she  knew 
it.  She  saw  him  stoop  with  absolute  assur- 
ance and  slip  his  arm  under  the  boy's  shoulders. 
Tommy's  inert  head  fell  back  against  him,  but 
she  saw  his  strong  right  hand  come  out  and  take 
the  spoon  that  Ralston  held  out.  His  dark  face 
was  bent  to  his  task,  and  it  held  no  dismay,  only 
unswerving  determination. 

"Tommy!"  he  said  again,  and  in  his  voice  was 
a  certain  grim  tenderness  that  moved  her  oddly, 
sending  the  tears  to  her  eyes  before  she  could 
check  them.  "Tommy,  wake  up,  man!  If  you 
think  you're  going  out  now,  you're  damn  well 
mistaken.  Wake  up,  do  you  hear?  Wake  up 
and  swallow  this  stuff!  There!  You've  got  it. 
Now  swallow — do  you  hear? — swallow!" 


The  Summons  141 

He  held  the  spoon  between  Tommy's  lips  till 
it  was  emptied  of  every  drop;  then  thrust  it  back 
at  Ralston. 

"Here  take  it!  Pour  out  some  more!  Now, 
Tommy  lad,  it's  up  to  you !  Swallow  it  like  a  dear 
fellow !  Yes,  you  can  if  you  try.  Give  your  mind 
to  it !  Pull  up,  boy,  pull  up !  play  the  damn  game! 
Don't  go  back  on  me!  Ah,  you  didn't  know  I  was 
here,  did  you?  Thought  you'd  slope  while  my 
back  was  turned.  You  weren't  quick  enough,  my 
lad.  You've  got  to  come  back." 

There  was  a  strange  note  of  passion  in  his 
voice.  It  was  obvious  to  Stella  that  he  had 
utterly  forgotten  himself  in  the  gigantic  task 
before  him.  Body  and  soul  were  bent  to  its  ful- 
fillment. She  could  see  the  perspiration  running 
down  his  face.  She  stood  and  watched,  thrilled 
through  and  through  with  the  wonder  of  what 
she  saw. 

For  at  the  call  of  that  curt,  insistent  voice 
Tommy  moved  and  made  response.  It  was  like 
the  return  of  a  departing  spirit.  He  came  out 
of  that  deathly  inertia.  He  opened  his  eyes  upon 
Monck's  face,  staring  up  at  him  with  an  expres- 
sion half-questioning  and  half-expectant. 

"You  haven't  swallowed  that  stuff  yet, "  Monck 
reminded  him.  "Get  rid  of  that  first!  What  a 
child  you  are,  Tommy!  Why  can't  you  behave 
yourself?" 

Tommy's  throat  worked  spasmodically,  he 
made  a  mighty  effort  and  succeeded  in  swallow- 


H2       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

ing.  Then,  through  lips  that  twitched  as  if  he 
were  going  to  cry,  weakly  he  spoke. 

'  *  Hullo — hullo — you  old  bounder ! ' ' 

"Hullo!"  said  Monck  in  stern  rejoinder.  "A 
nice  game  this!  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself? 
You  ought  to  be.  I'm  furious  with  you.  Do  you 
know  that?" 

"Don't  care — a  damn,"  said  Tommy,  and 
forced  his  quivering  lips  to  a  smile. 

"You  will  presently,  you — puppy!"  said  Monck 
witheringly.  "You're  more  bother  than  you're 
worth.  Come  on,  Ralston!  Give  him  another 
dose!  Tommy,  you  hang  on,  or  I'll  know  the 
reason  why!  There,  you  little  ass!  What's  the 
matter  with  you?" 

For  Tommy's  smile  had  crumpled  into  an  ex- 
pression of  woe  in  spite  of  him.  He  turned  his 
face  into  Monck's  shoulder,  piteously  striving  to 
hide  his  weakness. 

"Feel — so  beastly — bad,"  he  whispered. 

"All  right,  old  fellow,  all  right!  I  know." 
Monck's  hand  was  on  his  head,  soothing,  caressing, 
comforting.  "Stick  to  it  like  a  Briton!  We'll 
pull  you  round.  Think  I  don't  understand? 
What  ?  But  you've  got  to  do  your  bit,  you  know. 
You've  got  to  be  game.  And  here's  your  sister 
waiting  to  lend  a  hand,  come  all  the  way  to  this 
filthy  hole  on  purpose.  You  are  not  going  to  let 
her  see  you  go  under.  Come,  Tommy  lad!" 

The  tears  overflowed  down  Stella's  cheeks. 
She  dared  not  show  herself.  But,  fortunately 


The  Summons  143 

for  her,  Tommy  did  not  desire  it.  Monck's 
words  took  effect  upon  him,  and  he  made  a 
trembling  effort  to  pull  himself  together. 

' '  Don't  let  her  see  me — like  this ! "  he  murmured. 
"I'll  be  better  presently.  You  tell  her,  old  chap, 
and —  I  say — look  after  her,  won't  you?" 

"All  right,  you  cuckoo, "  said  Monck. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  MORNING 

DAY  broke  upon  a  world  of  streaming  rain. 
Stella  sat  before  a  meal  spread  in  the  dining-room 
and  wanly  watched  it.  Peter  hovered  near  her; 
she  had  a  suspicion  that  the  meal  was  somehow 
of  his  contriving.  But  how  he  had  arrived  she 
had  not  the  least  idea  and  was  too  weary  to  ask. 

Tommy  had  fallen  into  natural  sleep,  and  Rals- 
ton had  persuaded  her  to  leave  him  in  his  care  for 
a  while,  promising  to  send  for  her  at  once  if  occasion 
arose.  She  had  left  Monck  there  also,  but  she 
fancied  Ralston  did  not  mean  to  let  him  stay. 
Her  thoughts  dwelt  oddly  upon  Monck.  He  had 
surprised  her;  more,  in  some  fashion  he  had 
pierced  straight  through  her  armour  of  indiffer- 
ence. Wholly  without  intention  he  had  imposed 
his  personality  upon  her.  He  had  made  her 
recognize  him  as  a  force  that  counted.  Though 
Major  Ralston  had  been  engaged  upon  the  same 
task,  she  realized  that  it  was  his  effort  alone  that 
had  brought  Tommy  back.  And — she  saw  it 
clearly — it  was  sheer  love  and  nought  else  that 
had  obtained  the  mastery.  This  man  whom  she 
144 


The  Morning  145 

had  always  regarded  as  a  being  apart,  grimly 
self-contained,  too  ambitious  to  be  capable  of 
more  than  a  passing  fancy,  had  shown  her  some- 
thing in  his  soul  which  she  knew  to  be  Divine. 
He  was  not,  it  seemed,  so  aloof  as  she  had  imagined 
him  to  be.  The  friendship  between  himself  and 
Tommy  was  not  the  one-sided  affair  that  she  and 
a  good  many  others  had  always  believed  it.  He 
cared  for  Tommy,  cared  very  deeply.  Somehow 
that  fact  made  a  vast  difference  to  her,  such  a 
difference  as  seemed  to  reach  to  the  very  centre 
of  her  being.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  underrated 
something  great. 

The  rush  of  the  rain  on  the  roof  of  the  verandah 
seemed  to  make  coherent  thought  impossible. 
She  gazed  at  the  meal  before  her  and  wondered 
if  she  could  bring  herself  to  partake  of  it.  Peter 
had  put  everything  ready  to  her  hand,  and  in 
justice  to  him  she  felt  as  if  she  ought  to  make  the 
attempt.  But  a  leaden  weariness  was  upon  her. 
She  felt  more  inclined  to  sink  back  in  her  chair 
and  sleep. 

There  came  a  sound  behind  her,  and  she  was 
aware  of  someone  entering.  She  fancied  it  was 
Peter  returned  to  mark  her  progress,  and  stretched 
her  hand  to  the  coffee-urn.  But  ere  she  touched  it 
she  knew  that  she  was  mistaken.  She  turned  and 
saw  Monck. 

By  the  grey  light  of  the  morning  his  face  startled 
her.  She  had  never  seen  it  look  so  haggard. 
But  out  of  it  the  dark  eyes  shone,  alert  and  in- 


H6       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

domitable,  albeit  she  suspected  that  they  had  not 
slept  for  many  hours. 

He  made  her  a  brief  bow.  "May  I  join  you?" 
he  said. 

His  manner  was  formal,  but  she  could  not  stand 
on  her  dignity  with  him  at  that  moment.  Im- 
pulsively, almost  involuntarily  it  seemed  to  her 
later,  she  rose,  offering  him  both  her  hands. 
"Captain  Monck, "  she  said,  "you  are — splendid!" 

Words  and  action  were  alike  wholly  spontaneous. 
They  were  also  wholly  unexpected.  She  saw  a 
strange  look  flash  across  his  face.  Just  for  a 
second  he  hesitated.  Then  he  took  her  hands  and 
held  them  fast. 

"Ah,— Stella!"  he  said. 

With  the  name  his  eyes  kindled.  His  weariness 
vanished  as  darkness  vanishes  before  the  glare  of 
electricity.  He  drew  her  suddenly  and  swiftly  to 
him. 

For  a  few  throbbing  seconds  Stella  was  so 
utterly  amazed  that  she  made  no  resistance.  He 
astounded  her  at  every  turn,  this  man.  And  yet 
in  some  strange  and  vital  fashion  her  moods 
responded  to  his.  He  was  not  beyond  compre- 
hension or  even  sympathy.  But  as  she  found  his 
dark  face  close  to  hers  and  felt  his  eyes  scorch  her 
like  a  flame,  expediency  rather  than  dismay 
urged  her  to  action.  There  was  something  so 
sublimely  natural  about  him  at  that  moment  that 
she  could  not  feel  afraid. 

She  drew  back  from  him  gasping.     ' '  Oh  please — 


The  Morning  H7 

please!"  she  sak1      "Captain  Monck,  let  me  go!" 

He  held  her  still,  though  he  drew  her  no  closer. 
* '  Must  I  ? "  he  said.  And  in  a  lower  voice, ' '  Have 
you  forgotten  how  once  in  this  very  room  you 
told  me — that  I  had  come  to  you — too  late?  And 
— now!" 

The  last  words  seemed  to  vibrate  through  and 
through  her.  She  quivered  from  head  to  foot. 
She  could  not  meet  the  passion  in  his  eyes,  but 
desperately  she  strove  to  cope  with  it  ere  it 
mounted  beyond  her  control. 

"Ah  no,  I  haven't  forgotten,"  she  said.  "But 
I  was  a  good  deal  younger  then.  I  didn't  know 
much  of  life.  I  have  changed — I  have  changed 
enormously." 

"You  have  changed — in  that  respect?"  he 
asked  her,  and  she  heard  in  his  voice  that  note  of 
stubbornness  which  she  had  heard  on  that  night  that 
seemed  so  long  ago — the  night  be  ore  her  marriage. 

She  freed  one  hand  from  his  hold  and  set  it 
pleadingly  against  his  breast.  "That  is  a  difficult 
question  to  answer,"  she  said.  "But  do  you 
think  a  slave  would  willingly  go  back  into  servitude 
when  once  he  has  felt  the  joy  of  freedom?" 

"Is  that  what  marriage  means  to  you ? "  he  said. 

She  bent  her  head.     "Yes." 

But  still  he  did  not  let  her  go.  "Stella,"  he 
said,  "I  haven't  changed  since  that  night." 

She  trembled  again,  but  she  spoke  no  word, 
nor  did  she  raise  her  eyes. 

He  went  on  slowly,  quietly,  almost  on  a  note  of 


148       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

fatalism.  "It  is  beyond  the  bounds  of  possibility 
that  I  should  change.  I  loved  you  then,  I  love 
you  now.  I  shall  go  on  loving  you  as  long  as  I 
live.  I  never  thought  it  possible  that  you  could 
care  for  me — until  you  told  me  so.  But  I  shall 
not  ask  you  to  marry  me  so  long  as  the  thought  of 
marriage  means  slavery  to  you.  All  I  ask  is  that 
you  will  not  hold  yourself  back  from  loving  me — 
that  you  will  not  be  afraid  to  be  true  to  your  own 
heart.  Is  that  too  much  ?" 

His  voice  was  steady  again.  She  raised  her 
eyes  and  met  his  look.  The  passion  had  gone  out 
of  it,  but  the  dominance  remained.  She  thrilled 
again  to  the  mastery  that  had  held  Tommy  back 
from  death. 

For  a  moment  she  could  not  speak.  Then,  as 
he  waited,  she  gathered  her  strength  to  answer. 
"I  mean  to  be  true,  "  she  said  rather  breathlessly. 
"But  I — I  value  my  freedom  too  much  ever  to 
marry  again.  Please,  I  want  you  to  understand 
that.  You  mustn't  think  of  me  in  that  way.  You 
mustn't  encourage  hopes  that  can  never  be  ful- 
filled." 

A  faint  gleam  crossed  his  face.  "That  is  my 
affair,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  but  I  mean  it."  Quickly  she  broke  in 
upon  him.  "I  am  in  earnest.  I  am  in  earnest. 
It  wouldn't  be  right  of  me  to  let  you  imagine — to 
let  you  think — "  she  faltered  suddenly,  for  some- 
thing obstructed  her  utterance.  The  next  mo- 
ment swiftly  she  covered  her  face. 


The  Morning  149 

"My  dear!"  he  said. 

He  led  her  back  to  the  table  and  made  her  sit 
down.  He  knelt  beside  her,  his  arms  comfortingly 
around  her. 

"I've  made  you  cry,"  he  said.  "You're  worn 
out.  Forgive  me!  I'm  a  brute  to  worry  you  like 
this.  You've  had  a  rotten  time  of  it,  I  know,  I 
know.  No,  don't  be  afraid  of  me!  I  won't  say 
another  word.  Just  lean  on  me,  that's  all.  I 
won't  let  you  down,  I  swear." 

She  took  him  at  his  word  for  a  space  and  leaned 
upon  him;  for  she  had  no  alternative.  She  was 
weary  to  the  soul  of  her;  her  strength  was  gone. 

But  gradually  his  strength  helped  her  to  re- 
cover. She  looked  up  at  length  with  a  quivering 
smile.  "There!  I  am  going  to  be  sensible.  You 
must  be  worn  out  too.  I  can  see  you  are.  Sit 
down,  won't  you,  and  let  us  forget  this?" 

He  met  her  look  steadily.  "No,  I  can't  for- 
get, "  he  said.  "But  I  shan't  pester  you.  I  don't 
believe  in  pestering  any  one.  I  shouldn't  have 
done  it  now,  only — "  he  broke  off  faintly  smiling — 
"it's  all  Tommy's  fault,  confound  him!"  he  said, 
and  rose,  giving  her  shoulder  a  pat  that  was  some- 
how more  reassuring  to  her  than  any  words. 

She  laughed  rather  tremulously.  ' '  Poor  Tommy ! 
Now  please  sit  down  and  have  a  rational  meal! 
You  are  looking  positively  gaunt.  It  will  be 
Tommy's  and  my  turn  to  nurse  you  next  if  you 
are  not  careful." 

He  pulled  up  a  chair  and  seated  himself.  "What 


150       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

a  pleasing  suggestion!  But  I  doubt  if  Tommy's 
assistance  will  be  very  valuable  to  any  one  for  some 
little  time  to  come.  No  milk  in  that  coffee,  please. 
I  will  have  some  brandy." 

Looking  back  upon  that  early  breakfast,  Stella 
smiled  to  herself  though  not  without  misgiving. 
For  somehow,  in  spite  of  what  had  preceded  it,  it 
was  a  very  light-hearted  affair.  She  had  never 
seen  Monck  in  so  genial  a  mood.  She  had  not 
believed  him  capable  of  it.  For  though  he 
looked  wretchedly  ill,  his  spirits  were  those  of  a 
conqueror. 

Doubtless  he  regarded  the  turn  in  Tommy's 
illness  as  a  distinct  and  personal  victory.  But 
was  that  his  only  cause  for  triumph  ?  She  wished 
she  knew. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   NIGHT-WATCH 

WHEN  Stella  saw  Tommy  again,  he  greeted  her 
with  a  smile  of  welcome  that  told  her  that  for  him 
the  worst  was  over.  He  had  returned.  But  his 
weakness  was  great,  greater  than  he  himself 
realized,  and  she  very  quickly  comprehended  the 
reason  for  Major  Ralston 's  evident  anxiety. 
Sickness  was  rife  everywhere,  and  now  that  the 
most  imminent  danger  was  past  he  was  able  to 
spare  but  little  time  for  Tommy's  needs.  He 
placed  him  in  Stella's  care  with  many  repeated 
injunctions  that  she  did  her  utmost  to  fulfil. 

For  the  first  two  days  Monck  helped  her.  His 
management  of  Tommy  was  supremely  arbitrary, 
and  Tommy  submitted  himself  with  a  meekness 
that  sometimes  struck  Stella  as  excessive.  But  it 
was  so  evident  that  the  boy  loved  to  have  his 
friend  near  him,  whatever  his  mood,  that  she 
made  no  comments  since  Monck  was  not  arbitrary 
with  her.  She  saw  but  little  of  him  after  their  early 
morning  meal  together,  for  when  he  could  spare  the 
time  to  be  with  Tommy,  she  took  his  advice  and 
went  to  her  room  for  the  rest  she  so  sorely  needed. 


152       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  hoped  that  Monck  rested  too  during  the 
hours  that  she  was  on  duty  in  the  sick-room.  She 
concluded  that  he  did  so,  though  his  appearance 
gave  small  testimony  to  the  truth  of  her  supposi- 
tion. Once  or  twice  coming  upon  him  suddenly 
she  was  positively  startled  by  the  haggardness 
of  his  look.  But  upon  this  also  she  made  no 
comment.  It  seemed  advisable  to  avoid  all  per- 
sonal matters  in  her  dealings  with  him.  She 
was  aware  that  he  suffered  no  interference  from 
Major  Ralston  whose  time  was  in  fact  so  fully 
occupied  at  the  hospital  and  elsewhere  that  he 
was  little  likely  to  wish  to  add  him  to  his  sick 
list. 

Tommy's  recovery,  however,  was  fairly  rapid, 
and  on  the  third  night  after  her  arrival  she  was 
able  to  lie  down  in  his  room  and  rest  between  her 
ministrations.  Ralston  professed  himself  well 
satisfied  with  his  progress  in  the  morning,  and  she 
looked  forward  to  imparting  this  favourable 
report  to  Monck.  But  Monck  did  not  make  an 
appearance.  She  watched  for  him  almost  un- 
consciously all  through  the  day,  but  he  did  not 
come.  Tommy  also  watched  for  him,  and  finally 
concluded  somewhat  discontentedly  that  he  had 
gone  on  some  mission  regarding  which  he  had  not 
deemed  it  advisable  to  inform  them. 

"He  is  like  that,"  he  told  Stella,  and  for  the 
first  time  he  spoke  almost  disparagingly  of  his 
hero.  "So  beastly  discreet.  He  never  thinks 
any  one  can  keep  a  secret  besides  himself." 


The  Night- Watch  153 

"Ah  well,  never  mind,"  Stella  said.  "We  can 
do  without  him." 

But  Tommy  had  reached  the  stage  when  the 
smallest  disappointment  was  a  serious  matter. 
He  fretted  and  grew  feverish  over  his  friend's 
absence. 

When  Major  Ralston  saw  him  that  evening  he 
rated  him  soundly,  and  even,  Stella  thought, 
seemed  inclined  to  blame  her  also  for  the  set-back 
in  his  patient's  condition. 

"He  must  be  kept  quiet,"  he  insisted.  "It  is 
absolutely  essential,  or  we  shall  have  the  whole 
trouble  over  again.  I  shall  have  to  give  him  a 
sedative  and  leave  him  to  you.  I  can't  possibly 
look  in  again  to-night,  so  it  will  be  useless  to  send 
for  me.  You  will  have  to  manage  as  best  you  can. " 

He  departed,  and  Stella  arranged  to  divide  the 
night-watches  with  Peter  the  Great.  She  did  not 
privately  believe  that  there  was  much  ground  for 
alarm,  but  in  view  of  the  doctor's  very  emphatic 
words  she  decided  to  spend  the  first  hours  by 
Tommy's  side.  Peter  would  relieve  her  an  hour 
after  midnight,  when  at  his  earnest  request  she 
promised  to  go  to  her  room  and  rest. 

The  sedative  very  speedily  took  effect  upon 
Tommy  and  he  slept  calmly  while  she  sat  beside 
him  with  the  light  from  the  lamp  turned  upon  her 
book.  But  though  her  eyes  were  upon  the  open 
page  her  attention  was  far  from  it.  Her  thoughts 
had  wandered  to  Monck  and  dwelt  persistently 
upon  him.  The  memory  of  that  last  conversa- 


154       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

tion  she  had  had  with  Ralph  Dacre  would  not  be 
excluded  from  her  brain.  What  was  the  meaning 
of  this  mysterious  absence?  What  was  he  doing? 
She  felt  uneasy,  even  troubled.  There  was  some- 
thing about  this  Secret  Service  employment  which 
made  her  shrink,  though  she  felt  that  had  their 
mutual  relations  been  of  the  totally  indifferent 
and  casual  order  she  would  not  have  cared.  It 
seemed  to  her  well-nigh  impossible  to  place  any 
real  confidence  in  a  man  who  deliberately  con- 
cealed so  great  a  part  of  his  existence.  Her 
instinct  was  to  trust  him,  but  her  reason  forbade. 
She  was  beginning  to  ask  herself  if  it  would  not 
be  advisable  to  leave  India  just  as  soon  as  Tommy 
could  spare  her.  It  seemed  madness  to  remain 
on  if  she  desired  to  avoid  any  increase  of  intimacy 
with  this  man  who  had  already  so  far  overstepped 
the  bounds  of  convention  in  his  dealing  with  her. 

And  yet — in  common  honesty  she  had  to  admit 
it — she  did  not  want  to  go.  The  attraction  that 
held  her  was  as  yet  too  intangible  to  be  definitely 
analyzed,  but  she  could  not  deny  its  existence. 
She  did  not  love  the  man — oh,  surely  she  did  not 
love  him — for  she  did  not  want  to  marry  him. 
She  brought  her  feelings  to  that  touchstone  and  it 
seemed  that  they  were  able  to  withstand  the  test. 
But  neither  did  she  want  to  cut  herself  finally 
adrift  from  all  chance  of  contact  with  him.  It 
would  hurt  her  to  go.  Probably — almost  cer- . 
tainly — she  would  wish  herself  back  again.  But, 
the  question  remained  unanswered,  ought  she  to 


The  Night- Watch  155 

stay?  For  the  first  time  her  treasured  independ- 
ence arose  and  mocked  her.  She  had  it  in  her 
heart  to  wish  that  the  decision  did  not  rest  with 
herself. 

It  was  at  this  point,  while  she  was  yet  deep  in 
her  meditations,  that  a  slight  sound  at  the  window 
made  her  look  up.  It  was  almost  an  instinctive 
movement  on  her  part.  She  could  not  have 
said  that  she  actually  heard  anything  besides  the 
falling  rain  which  had  died  down  to  a  soft  patter 
among  the  trees  in  the  compound.  But  some- 
thing induced  her  took  up,  and  so  doing,  she 
caught  a  glimpse  of  a  figure  on  the  verandah 
without  that  sent  all  the  blood  in  her  body  racing 
to  her  heart.  It  was  but  a  momentary  glimpse. 
The  next  instant  it  was  gone,  gone  like  a  shadow, 
so  that  she  found  herself  asking  breathlessly  if  it 
had  ever  been,  or  if  by  any  means  her  imagination 
had  tricked  her.  For  in  that  fleeting  second  it 
seemed  to  her  that  the  past  had  opened  its  gates 
to  reveal  to  her  a  figure  which  of  late  had  drifted 
into  the  back  alleys  of  memory — the  figure  of  the 
dreadful  old  native  who,  in  some  vague  fashion, 
she  had  come  to  regard  as  the  cause  of  her  hus- 
band's death. 

She  had  never  seen  him  again  since  that  awful 
morning  when  oblivion  had  caught  her  as  it  were 
on  the  very  edge  of  the  world,  but  for  long  after 
he  had  haunted  her  dreams  so  that  the  very 
thought  of  sleep  had  been  abhorrent  to  her.  But 
now — like  the  grim  ghost  of  that  strange  life  that 


156       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

she  had  so  resolutely  thrust  behind  her — the  whole 
revolting  personality  of  the  man  rushed  vividly 
back  upon  her. 

She  sat  as  one  petrified.  Surely — surely —  she 
had  seen  him  in  the  flesh !  It  could  not  have  been 
a  dream.  She  was  certain  that  she  had  not  slept. 
And  yet — how  had  that  horrible  old  Kashmiri 
beggar  come  all  these  hundreds  of  miles  from  his 
native  haunts?  It  was  not  likely.  It  was  barely 
possible.  And  yet  she  had  always  been  convinced 
that  in  some  way  he  had  known  her  husband  be- 
forehand. Had  he  come  then  of  set  intention  to 
seek  her  out,  perhaps  to  attempt  to  extract  money 
from  her? 

She  could  not  answer  the  question,  and  her 
whole  being  shrank  from  the  thought  of  going 
out  into  the  darkness  to  investigate.  She  could 
not  bring  herself  to  it.  Actually  she  dared  not. 

Minutes  passed.  She  sat  still  gazing  and  gaz- 
ing at  the  blank  darkness  of  the  window.  Nothing 
moved  there.  The  wild  beating  of  her  heart 
died  gradually  down.  Surely  it  had  been  a  mistake 
after  all!  Surely  she  had  fallen  into  a  doze  in 
the  midst  of  her  reverie  and  dreamed  this  hateful 
apparition  with  the  gleaming  eyes  and  famished 
face! 

She  exerted  her  self-command  and  turned  at 
last  to  look  at  Tommy.  He  was  sleeping  peace- 
fully with  his  head  on  his  arm.  He  would  sleep 
all  night  if  undisturbed.  She  laid  aside  her  book 
and  softly  rose. 


The  Night- Watch  157 

Her  first  intention  was  to  go  to  the  door  and  see 
if  Peter  were  in  the  passage.  But  the  very  fact 
of  moving  seemed  to  give  her  courage.  The 
man's  rest  would  be  short  enough;  it  seemed  un- 
kind to  disturb  him. 

Resolutely  she  turned  to  the  window,  stifling 
all  qualms.  She  would  not  be  a  wretched  coward. 
She  would  see  for  herself. 

The  night  was  steaming  hot,  and  there  was  a 
smell  of  mildew  in  the  air.  A  swarm  of  mosquitoes 
buzzed  in  the  glare  thrown  by  the  lamp  v/ith  a 
shrill,  attenuated  sound  like  the  skirl  of  far-away 
bagpipes.  A  creature  with  bat-like  wings  flapped 
with  a  monstrous  ungainliness  between  the  outer 
posts  of  the  verandah.  From  across  the  com- 
pound an  owl  called  on  a  weird  note  of  defiance. 
And  in  the  dim  waste  of  distance  beyond  she 
heard  the  piercing  cry  of  a  jackal.  But  close  at 
hand,  so  far  as  the  rays  of  the  lamp  penetrated, 
she  could  discern  nothing. 

Stay!  What  was  that?  A  bar  of  light  from 
another  lamp  lay  across  the  verandah,  stretching 
out  into  the  darkness.  It  came  from  the  room 
next  to  the  one  in  which  she  stood.  Her  heart 
gave  a  sudden  hard  throb.  It  came  from  Monck's 
room. 

That  meant — that  meant — what  did  it  mean? 
That  Monck  had  returned  at  that  unusual  hour? 
Or  that  there  really  was  a  native  intruder  who  had 
found  the  window  unfastened  and  entered  ? 

Again  the  impulse  to  retreat  and  call  Peter  to 


158       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

deal  with  the  situation  came  upon  her,  but  almost 
angrily  she  shook  it  off.  She  would  see  for 
herself  first.  If  it  were  only  Monck,  then  her 
fancy  had  indeed  played  her  false  and  no  one 
should  know  it.  If  it  were  any  one  else,  it  would 
be  time  enough  then  to  return  and  raise  the  alarm. 

So,  reasoning  with  herself,  seeking  to  reassure 
herself,  crying  shame  on  her  fear,  she  stepped 
noiselessly  forth  into  the  verandah  and  slipped, 
silent  as  that  shadow  had  been,  through  the  inter- 
vening space  of  darkness  to  the  open  window  of 
Monck's  room. 

She  reached  it,  was  blinded  for  a  moment  by 
the  light  that  poured  through  it,  then,  recovering, 
peered  in. 

A  man,  dressed  in  pyjamas,  stood  facing  her, 
so  close  to  her  that  he  seemed  to  be  in  the  act  of 
stepping  forth.  She  recognized  him  in  a  second. 
It  was  Monck, — but  Monck  as  she  never  before 
had  seen  him,  Monck  with  eyes  alight  with  fever 
and  lips  drawn  back  like  the  lips  of  a  snarling 
animal.  In  his  right  hand  he  gripped  a  revolver. 

He  saw  her  as  suddenly  as  she  saw  him,  and  a 
rapid  change  crossed  his  face.  He  reached  out 
and  caught  her  by  the  shoulder. 

4 '  Come  in !  Come  in ! "  he  said,  his  words  rush- 
ing over  each  other  in  a  confused  jumble  utterly 
unlike  his  usual  incisive  speech.  "You're  safe 
in  here.  I'll  shoot  the  brute  if  he  dares  to  come 
near  you  again." 

She  saw  that  he  was  not  himself.    'The  awfuJ 


The  Night- Watch  159 

fire  in  his  eyes  alone  would  have  told  her  that. 
But  words  and  action  so  bewildered  her  that  she 
yielded  to  the  compelling  grip.  In  a  moment 
she  was  in  the  room,  and  he  was  closing  and 
shuttering  the  window  with  fevered  haste. 

She  stood  and  watched  him,  a  cold  sensation 
beginning  to  creep  about  her  heart.  When  he 
turned  round  to  her,  she  saw  that  he  was  smiling, 
a  fierce,  triumphant  smile. 

He  threw  down  the  revolver,  and  as  he  did  so, 
she  found  her  voice.  ' '  Captain  Monck,  what  does 
that  man  want?  What — what  is  he  doing?" 

He  stood  looking  at  her  with  that  dreadful 
smile  about  his  lips  and  the  red  fire  leaping,  leap- 
ing in  his  eyes.  ' '  Can't  you  guess  what  he  wants  ? ' ' 
he  said.  "He  wants — you." 

"Me?"  She  gazed  back  at  him  astounded. 
"But  why — why?  Does  he  want  to  get  money 
out  of  me?  Where  has  he  gone?" 

Monck  laughed,  a  low,  terrible  laugh.  ' '  Never 
mind  where  he  has  gone!  I've  frightened  him 
off,  and  I'll  shoot  him — I'll  shoot  him — if  he  comes 
back!  You're  mine  now — not  his.  You  were 
right  to  come  to  me,  qu:te  right.  I  was  just 
coming  to  you.  But  this  is  better.  No  one  can 
come  between  us  now.  I  know  how  to  protect 
my  wife." 

He  reached  out  his  hands  to  her  as  he  ended. 
His  eyes  shocked  her  inexpressibly.  They  held  a 
glare  that  was  inhuman,  almost  devilish. 

She  drew  back  from  him  in  open  horror.     ' '  Cap- 


160       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

tain  Monck!  I  am  not  your  wife!  What  can 
you  be  thinking  of?  You — you  are  not  yourself." 

She  turned  with  the  words,  seeking  the  door  that 
led  into  the  passage.  He  made  no  attempt  to 
check  her.  Instinct  told  her,  even  before  she 
laid  her  hand  upon  it,  that  it  was  locked. 

She  turned  back,  facing  him  with  all  her  courage. 
"Captain  Monck,  I  command  you  to  let  me  go!" 

Clear  and  imperious  her  voice  fell,  but  it  had  no 
more  visible  effect  upon  him  than  the  drip  of  the 
rain  outside.  He  came  towards  her  swiftly,  with 
the  step  of  a  conqueror,  ignoring  her  words  as 
though  they  had  never  been  uttered. 

"I  know  how  to  protect  my  wife, "  he  reiterated. 
' '  I  will  shoot  any  man  who  tries  to  take  you  from 
me." 

He  reached  her  with  the  words,  and  for  the 
first  time  she  flinched,  so  terrible  was  his  look. 
She  shrank  away  from  him  till  she  stood  against 
the  closed  door.  Through  lips  that  felt  stiff  and 
cold  she  forced  her  protest. 

"Indeed — indeed — you  don't  know  what  you 
are  doing.  Open  the  door  and — let  me — go ! " 

Her  voice  sounded  futile  even  to  herself.  Before 
she  ceased  to  speak,  his  arms  were  holding  her,  his 
lips,  fiercely  passionate,  were  seeking  hers. 

She  struggled  to  avoid  them,  but  her  strength 
was  as  a  child's.  He  quelled  her  resistance  with 
merciless  force.  He  choked  the  cry  she  tried  to 
utter  with  the  fiery  insistence  of  his  kisses.  He 
held  her  crushed  against  his  heart,  so  overwhelm- 


The  Night- Watch  161 

ing  her  with  the  volcanic  fires  of  his  passion  that 
in  the  end  she  lay  in  his  hold  helpless  and  gasping, 
too  shattered  to  oppose  him  further. 

She  scarcely  knew  when  the  fearful  tempest 
began  to  abate.  All  sense  of  time  and  almost  of 
place  had  left  her.  She  was  dizzy,  quivering,  on 
fire,  wholly  incapable  of  coherent  thought,  when 
at  last  it  came  to  her  that  the  storm  was  arrested. 

She  heard  a  voice  above  her,  a  strangely  broken 
voice.  "My  God!"  it  said.  "What — have  I 
done?" 

It  sounded  like  the  question  of  a  man  suddenly 
awaking  from  a  wild  dream.  She  felt  the  arms 
that  held  her  relax  their  grip.  She  knew  that  he 
was  looking  at  her  with  eyes  that  held  once  more 
the  light  of  reason.  And,  oddly,  that  fact  affected 
het  rather  with  dismay  than  relief.  Burning  from 
head  to  foot,  she  turned  her  own  away. 

She  felt  his  hand  pass  over  her  shamed  and 
quivering  face  as  though  to  assure  himself  that 
she  was  actually  there  in  the  flesh.  And  then 
abruptly — so  abruptly  that  she  tottered  and 
almost  fell — he  set  her  free. 

He  turned  from  her.  "God  help  me!  I  am 
mad!"  he  said. 

She  stood  with  throbbing  pulses,  gasping  for 
breath,  feeling  as  one  who  had  passed  through 
raging  fires  into  a  desert  of  smouldering  ashes. 
She  seemed  to  be  seared  from  head  to  foot.  The 
fiery  torment  of  his  kisses  had  left  her  tingling  in 
every  nerve. 


1 62       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  moved  away  to  the  table  on  which  he  had 
flung  his  revolver,  and  stood  there  with  his  back 
to  her.  He  was  swaying  a  little  on  his  feet. 

Without  looking  at  her,  he  spoke,  his  voice 
shaky,  wholly  unfamiliar.  "You  had  better  go. 
I — I  am  not  safe.  This  damned  fever  has  got 
into  my  brain." 

She  leaned  against  the  door  in  silence.  Her 
physical  strength  was  coming  back  to  her,  but  yet 
she  could  not  move,  and  she  had  no  words  to 
speak.  He  seemed  to  have  reft  from  her  every 
faculty  of  thought  and  feeling  save  a  burning 
sense  of  shame.  By  his  violence  he  had  broken 
down  all  her  defences.  She  seemed  to  have  lost 
both  the  power  and  the  will  to  resist.  She  re- 
mained speechless  while  the  dreadful  seconds 
crept  away. 

He  turned  round  upon  her  at  length  suddenly, 
almost  with  a  movement  of  exasperation.  And 
then  something  that  he  saw  checked  him.  He 
stood  silent,  as  if  not  knowing  how  to  proceed. 

Across  the  room  their  eyes  met  and  held  for  the 
passage  of  many  throbbing  seconds.  Then  slowly 
a  change  came  over  Monck.  He  turned  back  to 
the  table  and  deliberately  picked  up  the  revolver 
that  lay  there. 

She  watched  him  fascinated.  Over  his  shoulder 
he  spoke.  "You  will  think  me  mad.  Perhaps 
it  is  the  most  charitable  conclusion  you  could  come 
to.  But  I  fully  realize  that  when  a  thing  is  beyond 
an  apology,  it  is  an  insult  to  offer  one.  The  key 


The  Night- Watch  163 

of  the  door  is  under  the  pillow  on  the  bed.  Per- 
haps you  will  not  mind  finding  it  for  yourself." 

He  sat  down  with  the  words  in  a  heavy,  dogged 
fashion,  holding  the  revolver  dangling  between 
his  knees.  There  was  grim  despair  in  his  attitude; 
his  look  was  that  of  a  man  utterly  spent.  It  came 
to  Stella  at  that  moment  that  the  command  of  the 
situation  had  devolved  upon  her,  and  with  it  a 
heavier  responsibility  than  she  had  ever  before 
been  called  upon  to  bear. 

She  put  her  own  weakness  from  her  with  a 
resolution  born  of  expediency,  for  the  need  for 
strength  was  great.  She  crossed  the  room  to  the 
bed,  felt  for  and  found  the  key,  returned  to 
the  door  and  inserted  it  in  the  lock.  Then  she 
paused. 

He  had  not  moved.  He  was  not  watching  her. 
He  sat  as  one  sunk  deep  in  dejection,  bowed 
beneath  a  burden  that  crushed  him  to  the  earth. 
But  there  was  even  in  his  abasement  a  certain 
terrible  patience  that  sent  an  icy  misgiving  to  her 
heart.  She  did  not  dare  to  leave  him  so. 

It  needed  all  the  strength  she  could  muster  to 
approach  him,  but  she  compelled  herself  at  last. 
She  came  to  him.  She  stood  before  him. 

"Captain  Monck!"  she  said. 

Her  voice  sounded  small  and  frightened  even 
in  her  own  ears.  She  clenched  her  hands  with  the 
effort  to  be  strong. 

He  scarcely  stirred.  His  eyes  remained  down- 
cast. He  spoke  no  word. 


1 64       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  bent  a  little.  ' '  Captain  Monck,  if  you  have 
fever,  you  had  better  go  to  bed." 

He  moved  slightly,  influenced  possibly  by  the 
increasing  steadiness  of  her  voice.  But  still  he 
did  not  look  at  her  or  speak. 

She  saw  that  his  hold  upon  the  revolver  had 
tightened  to  a  grip,  and,  prompted  by  an  inner 
warning  that  she  could  not  pause  to  question,  she 
bent  lower  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 
"Please  give  that  to  me!"  she  said. 

He  started  at  her  touch;  he  almost  recoiled. 
"Why?"  he  said. 

His  voice  was  harsh  and  strained,  even  savage. 
But  the  needed  strength  had  come  to  Stella,  and 
she  did  not  flinch. 

"You  have  no  use  for  it  just  now,"  she  said. 
"Please  be  sensible  and  let  me  have  it!" 

"Sensible!"  he  said. 

His  eyes  sought  hers  suddenly,  involuntarily, 
and  she  had  a  sense  of  shock  which  she  was  quick 
to  control;  for  they  held  in  their  depths  the  tor- 
ment of  hell. 

"You  are  wrong,  "  he  said,  and  the  deadly  inten- 
tion of  his  voice  made  her  quiver  afresh .  "I  have  a 
use  for  it.  At  least  I  shall  have — presently.  There 
are  one  or  two  things  to  be  attended  to  first." 

It  was  then  that  a  strange  and  new  authority 
came  upon  Stella,  as  if  an  unknown  force  had 
suddenly  inspired  her.  She  read  his  meaning 
beyond  all  doubting,  and  without  an  instant's 
hesitation  she  acted. 


The  Night- Watch  165 

"Captain  Monck, "  she  said,  "you  have  made 
a  mistake.  You  have  done  nothing  that  is  past 
forgiveness.  You  must  take  my  word  for  that, 
for  just  now  you  are  ill  and  not  in  a  fit  state  to 
judge  for  yourself.  Now  please  give  me  that 
thing,  and  let  me  do  what  I  can  to  help  you!" 

Practical  and  matter-of-fact  were  her  wo  ds. 
She  marvelled  at  herself  even  as  she  stooped  and 
laid  a  steady  hand  upon  the  weapon  he  held. 
Her  action  was  purposeful,  and  he  relinquished  it. 
The  misery  in  his  eyes  gave  place  to  a  dumb 
curiosity. 

"Now,"  Stella  said,  "get  to  bed,  and  I  will 
bring  you  some  of  Tommy's  quinine." 

She  turned  from  him,  revolver  in  hand,  but 
paused  and  in  a  moment  turned  back. 

"Captain  Monck,  you  heard  what  I  said,  didn't 
you?  You  will  go  straight  to  bed?" 

Her  voice  held  a  hint  of  pleading,  despite  its 
insistence.  He  straightened  himself  in  his  chair. 
He  was  still  looking  at  her  with  an  odd  wonder  in 
his  eyes — wonder  that  was  mixed  with  a  very 
unusual  touch  of  reverence. 

"I  will  do — whatever  you  wish,"  he  said. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Stella.  "Then  please  let 
me  find  you  in  bed  when  I  come  back!" 

She  turned  once  more  to  go,  went  to  the  door 
and  opened  it.  From  the  threshold  she  glanced 
back. 

He  was  on  his  feet,  gazing  after  her  with  the 
eyes  of  a  man  in  a  trance. 


1 66       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  lifted  her  hand.  "Now  remember!"  she 
said,  and  with  that  passed  quietly  out,  closing 
the  door  behind  her. 

Her  brain  was  in  a  seething  turmoil  and  her 
heart  was  leaping  within  her  like  a  wild  thing 
suddenly  caged.  But,  very  strangely,  all  fear 
had  departed  from  her. 

Only  a  brief  interval  before,  she  had  found  her- 
self wishing  that  the  decision  of  her  life's  destiny 
had  not  rested  entirely  with  herself.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  a  great  revelation  had  been  vouch- 
safed between  the  amazing  present  and  those 
past  moments  of  troubled  meditation.  And  she 
knew  now  that  it  did  not. 


CHAPTER  VII 

SERVICE    RENDERED 

THE  news  that  Monck  was  down  with  the  fever 
brought  both  the  Colonel  and  Major  Ralston  early 
to  the  bungalow  on  the  following  morning. 

They  found  Stella  and  the  ever-faithful  Peter 
in  charge  of  both  patients.  Tommy  was  better 
though  weak.  Monck  was  in  a  high  fever  and 
delirious. 

Stella  was  in  the  latter's  room,  for  he  would  not 
suffer  her  out  of  his  sight.  She  alone  seemed  to 
have  any  power  to  control  him,  and  Ralston  noted 
the  fact  with  astonishment. 

"There's  some  magic  about  you,"  he  observed 
in  his  blunt  fashion.  "Are  you  going  to  take  on 
this  job?  It's  no  light  one  but  you'll  probably  do 
it  better  than  any  one  else. " 

It  was  a  tacit  invitation,  and  Stella  knowing  how 
widespread  was  the  sickness  that  infected  the 
station,  accepted  it  without  demur. 

' '  It  rather  looks  as  if  it  were  my  job,  doesn't  it  ? " 
she  said.  "I  am  willing,  anyway  to  do  my  best. " 

Ralston  looked  at  her  with  a  gleam  of  approval, 
but  the  Colonel  drew  her  aside  to  remonstrate. 
167 


168       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"It's  not  fit  for  you.  You'll  be  ill  yourself .  If 
Ralston  weren't  nearly  at  his  wit's  end  he'd  never 
dream  of  allowing  it. " 

But  Stella  heard  the  protest  with  a  smile. 
"Believe  me,  I  am  only  too  glad  to  be  able  to  do 
something  useful  for  a  change, "  she  assured  him. 
"As  to  being  ill  myself,  I  will  promise  not  to  behave 
so  badly  as  that.  " 

"You're  a  brick,  my  dear, "  said  Colonel  Mans- 
field. "I  wish  there  were  more  like  you.  Mind 
you  take  plenty  of  quinine ! ' '  With  which  piece  of 
fatherly  advice  he  left  her  with  the  determination 
to  keep  an  eye  on  her  and  see  that  Ralston  did  not 
work  her  too  hard. 

Stella,  however,  had  no  fears  on  her  own  account. 
She  went  to  her  task  resolute  and  undismayed, 
feeling  herself  actually  indispensable  for  almost 
the  first  time  in  her  life.  Her  influence  upon  Monck 
was  beyond  dispute.  She  alone  possessed  the 
power  to  calm  him  in  his  wildest  moments,  and  he 
never  failed  to  recognize  her  or  to  control  himself 
to  a  certain  extent  in  her  presence. 

The  attack  was  a  sharp  one,  and  for  a  while 
Ralston  was  more  uneasy  than  he  cared  to  admit. 
But  Monck's  constitution  was  a  good  one,  and 
after  three  days  of  acute  illness  the  fever  began  to 
subside.  Tommy  was  by  that  time  making  good 
progress,  and  Stella,  who  till  then  had  snatched  her 
rest  when  and  how  she  could,  gave  her  charge  into 
Peter's  keeping  and  went  to  bed  for  the  first  time 
since  her  arrival  at  Kurrumpore. 


Service  Rendered  169 

Till  she  actually  lay  down  she  did  not  realize 
how  utterly  worn  out  she  was,  or  how  little  the  odd 
hours  of  sleep  that  she  had  been  able  to  secure  had 
sufficed  her.  But  as  she  laid  her  head  upon  the 
pillow,  slumber  swept  upon  her  on  soundless  wings. 
She  slept  almost  before  she  had  time  to  appreciate 
the  exquisite  comfort  of  complete  repose. 

That  slumber  of  hers  lasted  for  many  hours. 
She  had  given  Peter  express  injunctions  to  awake 
her  in  good  time  in  the  morning,  and  she  rested 
secure  in  the  confidence  that  he  would  obey  her 
orders.  But  it  was  the  light  of  advancing  evening 
that  filled  the  room  when  at  last  she  opened  her 
eyes. 

There  had  come  a  break  in  the  rain,  and  a  bar 
of  misty  sunshine  had  penetrated  a  chink  in  the 
green  blinds  and  lay  golden  across  the  Indian 
matting  on  the  floor.  She  lay  and  gazed  at  it 
with  a  bewildered  sense  of  uncertainty  as  to  her 
whereabouts.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  returned  from 
a  long  journey,  and  for  a  time  her  mind  dwelt 
hazily  upon  the  Himalayan  paradise  from  which 
she  had  been  so  summarily  cast  forth.  Vague 
figures  flitted  to  and  fro  through  her  brain  till 
finally  one  in  particular  occupied  the  forefront  of 
her  thoughts.  She  found  herself  recalling  every 
unpleasant  detail  of  the  old  Kashmiri  beggar  who 
had  lured  Ralph  Dacre  from  her  side  on  that  last 
fateful  night.  The  old  question  arose  within  her 
and  would  not  be  stifled.  Had  the  man  murdered 
and  robbed  him  ere  flinging  him  down  to  the  tor- 


i7°       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

rent  that  had  swept  his  body  away  ?  The  wonder 
tormented  her  as  of  old,  but  with  renewed  inten- 
sity. She  had  awaked  with  the  conviction  strong 
upon  her  that  the  man  was  not  far  away,  that  she 
had  seen  him  recently,  and  that  Everard  Monck 
had  seen  him  also. 

That  brought  her  thoughts  very  swiftly  to  the 
present,  to  Monck's  illness  and  dependence  upon 
her,  and  in  a  flash  to  the  realization  that  she  had 
spent  nearly  the  whole  day  as  well  as  the  night  in 
sleep.  In  keen  dismay  she  started  from  her  bed 
and  began  a  rapid  toilet. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  she  heard  Peter's  low, 
discreet  knock  at  the  door,  and  bade  him  enter. 
He  came  in  with  a  tea-tray,  smiling  upon  her  with 
such  tender  solicitude  that  she  had  it  not  in  her 
heart  to  express  any  active  annoyance  with  him. 

"Oh,  Peter,  you  should  have  called  me  hours 
ago!"  was  all  she  found  to  say. 

He  set  down  the  tray  with  a  deep  salaam.  ' '  But 
the  captain  sahib  would  not  permit  me,  "  he  said. 

"He  is  better? "  Stella  asked  quickly. 
.    "He  is  much  better,  my  mem-sahib.    The  doctor 
sahib  smiled  upon  him  only  this  afternoon  and  told 
him  he  was  a  damn'  fraud.     So  my  mem- sahib 
may  set  her  mind  at  rest. " 

Obviously  the  term  constituted  a  high  compli- 
ment in  Peter's  estimation  and  the  evident  satis- 
faction that  it  afforded  to  Stella  seemed  to  confirm 
the  impression.  He  retired  looking  as  well  pleased 
as  Stella  had  ever  seen  him. 


Service  Rendered  171 

She  finished  dressing  as  speedily  as  possible,  ate 
a  hasty  meal,  and  hastened  to  Tommy's  room.  To 
her  surprise  she  found  .it  empty,  but  as  she  turned 
on  the  threshold  the  sound  of  her  brother's  laugh 
came  to  her  through  the  passage.  Evidently 
Tommy  was  visiting  his  fellow  sufferer. 

With  a  touch  of  anxiety  as  to  Monck's  fitness  to 
receive  a  visitor,  she  turned  in  the  direction  of  the 
laugh.  But  at  Monck's  door  she  paused,  con- 
strained by  something  that  checked  her  almost  like 
a  hand  laid  upon  her.  The  blood  ran  up  to  her 
temples  and  beat  through  her  brain.  She  found 
she  could  not  enter. 

As  she  stood  there  hesitating,  Monck's  voice 
came  to  her,  quiet  and  rational.  She  could  not 
hear  what  he  said,  but  Tommy's  more  impetuous 
tones  cutting  in  were  clearly  audible. 

"Oh,  rats,  my  dear  fellow!  Don't  be  so  damn' 
modest !  You're  worth  a  score  of  Dacres  and  you 
bet  she  knows  it." 

Stella  tingled  from  head  to  foot.  In  another 
moment  she  would  have  passed  swiftly  on,  but 
even  as  the  impulse  came  to  her  it  was  frustrated. 
The  door  in  front  of  her  suddenly  opened,  and  she 
was  face  to  face  with  Monck  himself. 

He  stood  leaning  slightly  on  the  handle  of  the 
door.  He  was  draped  in  a  long  dressing-gown  of 
Oriental  silk  that  hung  upon  him  dejectedly  as  if 
it  yearned  for  a  stouter  tenant.  In  it  he  looked 
leaner  and  taller  than  he  had  ever  seemed  to  her 
before.  He  had  a  cigarette  between  his  lips,  but 


i72       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

this  he  removed  with  a  flicker  of  humour  as  he 
observed  her  glance. 

"Caught  in  the  act,"  he  remarked.  "Please 
come  in!" 

Something  that  was  very  far  from  humour 
impelled  Stella  to  say  quickly,  "I  hope  you  don't 
imagine  I  was  eavesdropping. ' ' 

He  looked  sardonic  for  an  instant.  "No,  I  do 
not  so  far  flatter  myself,  "  he  said.  "I  was  refer- 
ring to  my  cigarette. " 

She  entered,  striving  for  dignity.  Then  as  his 
attitude  caught  her  attention  she  forgot  herself 
and  turned  upon  him  in  genuine  dismay.  "What 
are  you  doing  out  of  bed?  You  know  you  are 
not  fit  for  it.  Oh,  how  wrong  of  you !  Take  my 
arm!" 

He  transferred  his  hand  from  the  door  to  her 
shoulder,  and  she  felt  it  tremble  though  his  hold 
was  strong. 

"May  I  not  sit  up  to  tea  with  you,  nurse  sahib?" 
he  suggested,  as  she  piloted  him  firmly  to  the  bed- 
side. 

"Of  course  not,"  she  made  answer.  The  con- 
sciousness of  his  weakness  had  fully  restored  her 
confidence  and  her  authority.  "Besides,  I  have 
had  mine.  Tommy,  you  too!  It  is  too  bad,  I 
shall  never  dare  to  close  my  eyes  again. " 

At  this  point  Monck  laughed  so  suddenly  and 
boyishly  that  she  found  it  utterly  impossible  to 
continue  her  reproaches.  He  humbly  apologized  as 
he  subsided  upon  the  bed,  and  turning  to  Tommy 


Service  Rendered  173 

who,  fully  dressed,  was  reclining  at  his  ease  in  a 
deck-chair  by  its  side  said  with  a  smile,  "You 
get  back  to  your  own  compartment,  my  son.  It 
isn't  good  for  me  to  have  two  people  in  the  room 
with  me  at  the  same  time.  And  your  sister  wants 
to  take  my  pulse  undisturbed. " 

"Or  listen  to  your  heart?"  suggested  Tommy 
irreverently  as  he  rose. 

"Turn  him  out!"  said  Monck,  leaning  luxuri- 
ously upon  the  pillows  that  Stella  arranged  for 
him. 

Tommy  laughed  as  he  sauntered  away,  pulling 
the  door  carelessly  after  him  but  recalled  by  Monck 
to  shut  it. 

A  sudden  silence  followed  his  departure.  Stella 
was  at  the  window,  looping  back  the  curtains. 
The  vague  sunlight  still  smote  across  the  dripping 
compound;  the  whole  plain  was  smoking  like  a 
mighty  cauldron.  Stella  finished  her  task  and 
stood  still. 

Across  the  silence  came  Monck's  voice.  "Aren't 
you  going  to  give  me  my  medicine?" 

She  turned  slowly  round.  "I  think  you  are 
nearly  equal  to  doctoring  yourself  now, "  she  said. 

He  was  lying  raised  on  his  elbow,  his  eyes, 
intent  and  searching,  fixed  upon  her.  Abruptly, 
in  a  different  tone,  he  spoke.  "In  other  words, 
quit  fooling  and  play  the  game!"  he  said.  "All 
right,  I  will — to  the  best  of  my  ability.  First  of 
all,  may  I  tell  you  something  that  Ralston  said  to 
me  this  morning?" 


174       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

' '  Certainly. ' '  Stella's  voice  sounded  constrained 
and  formal.  She  remained  with  her  back  to  the 
window;  for  some  reason  she  did  not  want  him  to 
see  her  face  too  clearly. 

' '  It  was  only  this, ' '  said  Monck.  ' '  He  said  that 
I  had  you  to  thank  for  pulling  me  through  this 
business,  that  but  for  you  I  should  probably  have 
gone  under.  Ralston  isn't  given  to  saying  that 
sort  of  thing.  So — if  you  will  allow  me — I  should 
like  to  thank  you  for  the  trouble  you  have  taken 
and  for  the  service  rendered. " 

"Please  don't!"  Stella  said.  "After  all,  it  was 
no  more  than  you  did  for  Tommy,  nor  so  much. " 
She  spoke  nervously,  avoiding  his  look. 

The  shadow  of  a  smile  crossed  Monck's  face. 
"I  chance  to  be  rather  fond  of  Tommy, "  he  said, 
"so  my  motive  was  more  or  less  a  selfish  one.  But 
you  had  not  that  incentive,  so  I  should  be  all  the 
more  grateful.  I  am  afraid  I  have  given  you  a  lot 
of  trouble.  Have  you  found  me  very  difficult  to 
manage?" 

He  put  the  question  suddenly,  almost  imperi- 
ously. Stella  was  conscious  of  a  momentary 
surprise.  There  was  something  in  the  tone  rather 
than  the  words  that  puzzled  her.  She  hesitated 
over  her  reply. 

"You  have?"  said  Monck.  "That  means  I 
have  been  very  unruly.  Do  you  mind  telling  me 
what  happened  on  the  night  I  was  taken  ill?" 

She  felt  a  burning  blush  rush  up  to  her  face  and 
neck  before  she  could  check  it.  It  was  impossible 


Service  Rendered  175 

to  attempt  to  hide  her  distress  from  him.  She 
forced  herself  to  speak  before  it  overwhelmed  her. 
' '  I  would  rather  not  discuss  it  or  think  of  it.  You 
were  not  yourself,  and  I — and  I — 

"And  you?"  said  Monck,  his  voice  suddenly 
sunk  very  low. 

She  commanded  herself  with  a  supreme  effort. 
"I  wish  to  forget  it, "  she  said  with  firmness. 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two.  She  began 
to  wonder  if  it  would  be  possible  to  make  her  escape 
before  he  could  pursue  the  subject  further.  And 
then  he  spoke,  and  she  knew  that  she  must  remain. 

"You  are  very  generous, "  he  said,  "more  gener- 
ous than  I  deserve.  Will  it  help  matters  at  all  if 
I  tell  you  that  I  would  give  all  I  have  to  be  able  to 
forget  it  too,  or  to  believe  that  the  thing  I  remem- 
ber was  just  one  of  the  wild  delusions  of  my 
brain?" 

His  voice  was  deep  and  sincere.  In  spite  of 
herself  she  was  moved  by  it.  She  came  forward 
to  his  side.  "The  past  is  past,"  she  said,  and  gave 
him  her  hand. 

He  took  it  and  held  it,  looking  at  her  in  his 
straight,  inscrutable  way.  "True,  most  gra- 
cious!" he  said.  "But  I  haven't  quite  done  with 
it  yet.  Will  you  hear  me  a  moment  longer  ?  You 
have  of  your  goodness  pardoned  my  outrageous 
behaviour,  so  I  make  no  further  allusion  to  that, 
except  to  tell  you  that  I  had  been  tempted  to  try  a 
native  drug  which  in  its  effects  was  worse  than  the 
fever  pure  and  simple.  But  there  is  one  point 


1 76       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

which  only  you  can  make  clear.  How  was  it  you 
came  to  seek  me  out  that  night  ? " 

His  grasp  upon  her  hand  was  reassuring  though 
she  felt  the  quiver  of  physical  weakness  in  its  hold. 
It  was  the  grasp  of  a  friend,  and  her  embarrass- 
ment began  to  fall  away  from  her. 

' '  I  came, "  she  said, ' '  because  I  had  been  startled. 
I  had  no  idea  you  were  anywhere  near.  I  was 
really  investigating  the  verandah  because  of — of 
something  I  had  seen,  when  the  light  from  this 
window  attracted  me.  I  thought  possibly  some- 
one had  broken  in. " 

"Will  you  tell  me  what  startled  you?"  Monck 
said. 

She  looked  at  him.  "It  was  a  man — an  old 
native  beggar.  I  only  saw  him  for  a  moment.  I 
was  in  Tommy's  room,  and  he  came  and  looked 
in  at  me.  You — you  must  have  seen  him  too. 
You  were  talking  very  excitedly  about  him.  You 
threatened  to  shoot  him. " 

"Was  that  how  you  came  to  deprive  me  of  my 
revolver?"  questioned  Monck. 

She  coloured  again  vividly.  "No,  I  thought 
you  were  going  to  shoot  yourself.  I  will  give  it 
back  to  you  presently.  " 

' '  When  you  consider  that  I  can  be  safely  trusted 
with  it  ? "  he  suggested,  with  his  brief  smile.  ' '  But 
tell  me  some  more  about  this  mysterious  old  beggar 
of  yours !  What  was  he  like  ?" 

She  hesitated  momentarily.  ' '  I  only  had  a  very 
fleeting  glimpse  of  him.  I  can't  tell  you  what  he 


Service  Rendered  177 

was  really  like.  But — he  reminded  me  of  some- 
one I  never  want  to  think  of  or  suffer  myself  to 
think  of  again  if  I  can  help  it. " 

"Who?"  said  Monck. 

His  voice  was  quiet,  but  it  held  insistence.  She 
felt  as  if  his  eyes  pierced  her,  compelling  her 
reply. 

' '  A  horrible  old  native — a  positive  nightmare  of 
a  man — whom  I  shall  always  regard  as  in  some  way 
the  cause  of  my  husband's  death. " 

In  the  pause  that  followed  her  words,  Monck's 
hand  left  hers.  He  lay  still  looking  at  her,  but  with 
that  steely  intentness  that  told  her  nothing.  She 
could  not  have  said  whether  he  were  vitally  inter- 
ested in  the  matter  or  not  when  he  spoke  again. 

"You  think  that  he  was  murdered  then?" 

A  sharp  shudder  went  through  her.  ' '  I  am  very 
nearly  convinced  of  it,"  she  said.  "But  I  shall 
never  know  for  certain  now. " 

"And  you  imagine  that  the  murderer  can  have 
followed  you  here?"  he  pursued. 

"No!  Oh  no!"  Hastily  she  made  answer. 
"It  is  ridiculous  of  course.  He  would  never  be 
such  a  fool  as  to  do  that.  It  was  only  my  imagina- 
tion. I  saw  the  figure  at  the  window  and  was 
reminded  of  him. " 

"Are  you  sure  the  figure  at  the  window  was  not 
imagination  too?"  said  Monck.  "Forgive  my 
asking!  Such  things  have  happened. " 

"Oh,  I  know,"  Stella  said.  "It  is  a  question 
I  have  been  asking  myself  ever  since.  But,  you 


1 78       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

know — "  she  smiled  faintly — "I  had  no  fever  that 
night.  Besides,  I  fancy  you  saw  him  too." 

His  smile  met  hers.  "I  saw  many  things  that 
night  as  they  were  not.  And  you  also  were  over- 
wrought and  very  tired.  Perhaps  you  had  had  an 
exciting  supper!" 

She  saw  that  he  meant  to  turn  the  subject  away 
from  her  husband's  death,  and  a  little  thrill  of 
gratitude  went  through  her.  He  had  seen  how 
reluctant  she  was  to  speak  of  it.  She  followed  his 
lead  with  relief. 

"Perhaps — perhaps,"  she  said.  "We  will  say 
so  anyhow.  And  now,  do  you  know,  I  think  you 
had  better  have  your  tea  and  rest.  You  have 
done  a  lot  of  talking,  and  you  will  be  getting 
feverish  again  if  I  let  you  go  on.  I  will  send  Peter 
in  with  it." 

He  raised  one  eyebrow  with  a  wry  expression. 
"Must  it  be  Peter?"  he  said. 

She  relented.  ' '  I  will  bring  it  myself  if  you  will 
promise  not  to  talk. ' ' 

"Ah!"  he  said.  "And  if  I  promise  that — will 
you  promise  me  one  thing  too?" 

She  paused.     ' '  What  is  that  ? ' ' 

His  eyes  met  hers,  direct  but  baffling.  "Not 
to  run  away  from  me,"  he  said. 

The  quick  blood  mounted  again  in  her  face. 
She  stood  silent. 

He  lifted  an  urgent  hand.  "Stella,  in  heaven's 
name,  don't  be  afraid  of  me!" 

She  laid  her  hand  again  in  his.     She  could  not  do 


Service  Rendered  179 

otherwise.  She  wanted  to  beg  him  to  say  nothing 
further,  to  let  her  go  in  peace.  But  no  words 
would  come.  She  stood  before  him  mute. 

And — perhaps  he  knew  what  was  in  her  mind — 
Monck  was  silent  also  after  that  single  earnest 
appeal  of  his.  He  held  her  hand  for  a  few  seconds, 
and  then  very  quietly  let  it  go.  She  knew  by  his 
action  that  he  would  respect  her  wish  for  the  time 
at  least  and  say  no  more. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   TRUCE 

TOMMY  was  in  a  bad  temper  with  everyone — a 
most  unusual  state  of  affairs.  The  weather  was 
improving  every  day;  the  rains  were  nearly  over. 
He  was  practically  well  again,  too  well  to  be  sent 
to  Bhulwana  on  sick  leave,  as  Ralston  brutally 
told  him;  but  it  was  not  this  fact  that  had  upset 
his  internal  equilibrium.  He  did  not  want  sick 
leave,  and  bluntly  said  so. 

"Then  what  the  devil  do  you  want?"  said  Ral- 
ston, equally  blunt  and  ready  to  resent  irritation 
from  one  who  in  his  opinion  was  too  highly  fav- 
oured of  the  gods  to  have  any  reasonable  grounds 
for  complaint. 

Tommy  growled  an  inarticulate  reply.  It  was 
not  his  intention  to  confide  in  Ralston  whatever 
his  grievance.  But  Ralston,  not  to  be  frustrated, 
carried  the  matter  to  Monck,  then  on  the  high  road 
to  recovery. 

"What  in  thunder  is  the  matter  with  the  young 
ass?"  he  demanded.  "He  gets  more  lantern- 
jawed  and  obstreperous  every  day. " 

"Leave  him  to  me!"  said  Monck.     "Discharge 
him  as  cured!     I'll  manage  him. " 
1 80 


The  Truce  181 

"But  that's  just  what  he  isn't, "  grumbled  Ral- 
ston. ' '  He  ought  to  be  well.  So  far  as  I  can  make 
out,  he  is  well.  But  he  goes  about  looking  like  a 
sick  fly  and  stinging  before  you  touch  him. " 

"Leave  him  to  me!"  Monck  said  again. 

That  afternoon  as  he  and  Tommy  lounged  to- 
gether on  the  verandah  after  the  lazy  fashion  of 
convalescents,  he  turned  to  the  boy  in  his  abrupt 
fashion. 

"Look  here,  Tommy!"  he  said.  "What  are 
you  making  yourself  so  conspicuously  unpleasant 
for?  It's  time  you  pulled  up. " 

Tommy  turned  crimson.  "I?"  he  stammered. 
' '  Who  says  so  ?  Stella  ? ' ' 

There  was  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  about  Monck's 
grim  mouth  as  he  made  reply.  "No;  not  Stella, 
though  she  well  might.  I've  heard  you  being 
beastly  rude  to  her  more  than  once.  What's  the 
matter  with  you?  Want  a  kicking,  eh?" 

Tommy  hunched  himself  in  his  wicker  chair 
with  his  chin  on  his  chest.  "No,  want  to  kick," 
he  said  in  a  savage  undertone. 

Monck  laughed  briefly.  He  was  standing  against 
a  pillar  of  the  verandah.  He  turned  and  sat  down 
unexpectedly  on  the  arm  of  Tommy's  chair.  ' '  Who 
do  you  want  to  kick?"  he  said. 

Tommy  glanced  at  him  and  was  silent. 

"Significant!"  commented  Monck.  He  put 
his  hand  with  very  unwonted  kindness  upon  the 
lad's  shoulder.  "What  do  you  want  to  kick  me 
for,  Tommy?"  he  asked. 


1 82       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Tommy  shrugged  the  shoulder  under  his  hand. 
4 'If  you  don't  know,  I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said 
gruffly. 

Monck's  fingers  closed  with  quiet  persistence. 
' '  Yes,  you  can.  Out  with  it ! "  he  said. 

But  Tommy  remained  doggedly  silent. 

Several  seconds  passed.  Then  very  suddenly 
Monck  raised  his  hand  and  smote  him  hard  on  the 
back. 

"Damn!"  said  Tommy,  straightening  involun- 
tarily. 

' '  That's  better, ' '  said  Monck.  ' '  That'll  do  you 
good.  Don't  curl  up  again!  You're  getting  dis- 
gracefully round-shouldered.  Like  to  have  a  bout 
with  the  gloves?" 

There  was  not  a  shade  of  ill-feeling  in  his  voice. 
Tommy  turned  round  upon  him  with  a  smile  as 
involuntary  as  his  exclamation  had  been. 

"What  a  brute  you  are,  Monck!  You  have 
such  a  beastly  trick  of  putting  a  fellow  in  the 
wrong. " 

"You  are  in  the  wrong,"  asserted  Monck.  "I 
want  to  get  you  out  of  it  if  I  can.  What's  the 
grievance?  What  have  I  done?" 

Tommy  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then  finally 
reached  up  and  gripped  the  hand  upon  his  shoul- 
der. ' '  Monck !  I  say,  Monck ! "  he  said  boyishly. 
"I  feel  such  a  cur  to  say  it.  But — but — "  he 
broke  off  abruptly.  "I'm  damned  if  I  can  say 
it!"  he  decided  dejectedly. 

Monck's  fingers  suddenly  twisted  and  closed 


The  Truce  183 

upon  his.  "What  a  funny  little  ass  you  are, 
Tommy!"  he  said. 

Tommy  brightened  a  little.  "It's  infernally 
difficult — taking  you  to  task,"  he  explained 
blushing  a  still  fierier  red.  "You'll  never  speak 
to  me  again  after  this. " 

Monck  laughed.  "Yes,  I  shall.  I  shall  respect 
you  for  it.  Get  on  with  it,  man!  What's  the 
trouble?" 

With  immense  effort  Tommy  made  reply. 
"Well,  it's  pretty  beastly  to  have  to  ask  any  fellow 
what  his  intentions  are  with  regard  to  his  sister, 
but  you  pretty  nearly  told  me  yours. " 

"Then  what  more  do  you  want?"  questioned 
Monck. 

Tommy  made  a  gesture  of  helplessness.  ' '  Damn 
it,  man !  Don't  you  know  she  is  making  plans  to 
go  Home?" 

"Well?  "said  Monck. 

Tommy  faced  round.  "I  say,  like  a  good  chap, 
— you've  practically  forced  this,  you  know — you're 
not  going  to — to  let  her  go?" 

Monck's  eyes  looked  back  straight  and  hard. 
He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment;  then,  "You  want 
to  know  my  intentions,  Tommy, "  he  said.  "You 
shall.  Your  sister  and  I  are  observing  a  truce  for 
the  present,  but  it  won't  last  for  ever.  I  am  mak- 
ing plans  for  a  move  myself.  I  am  going  to  live  at 
the  Club." 

"Is  that  going  to  help?"  demanded  Tommy 
bluntly. 


1 84       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Monck  looked  sardonic.  "We  mustn't  offend 
the  angels,  you  know,  Tommy, "  he  said. 

Tommy  made  a  sound  expressive  of  gross  irre- 
verence. "Oh,  that's  it,  is  it?  Now  we  know 
where  we  are.  I've  been  feeling  pretty  rotten 
about  it,  I  can  tell  you." 

"You  always  were  an  ass,  weren't  you?"  said 
Monck,  getting  up. 

Tommy  got  up  too,  giving  himself  an  impatient 
shake.  He  pushed  an  apologetic  hand  through 
Monck's  arm.  "I  can't  expect  ever  to  get  even 
with  a  swell  like  you, "  he  said  humbly. 

Monck  looked  at  him.  Something  in  the  boy's 
devotion  seemed  to  move  him,  for  his  eyes  were 
very  kindly  though  his  laugh  was  ironic.  "You'll 
have  an  almighty  awakening  one  of  these  days, 
my  son, ' '  he  said.  ' '  By  the  way,  if  we  are  going  to 
be  brothers,  you  had  better  call  me  by  my  Christ- 
ian name. " 

"By  Jove,  I  will, "  said  Tommy  eagerly.  "And 
if  there  is  anything  I  can  do,  old  chap — anything 
under  the  sun " 

"I'll  let  you  know, "  said  Monck. 

So,  like  the  lifting  of  a  thunder  cloud,  Tommy's 
Very  unwonted  fit  of  temper  merged  into  a  mood  of 
great  benignity  and  Ralston  complained  no  more. 

Monck  took  up  his  abode  at  the  Club  before  the 
brief  winter  season  brought  the  angels  flitting  back 
from  Bhulwana  to  combine  pleasure  with  duty  at 
Kurrumpore. 

Stella  accepted  his  departure  without  comment, 


The  Truce  185 

missing  him  when  gone  after  a  fashion  which  she 
would  have  admitted  to  none.  She  did  not  wholly 
understand  his  attitude,  but  Tommy's  serenity  of 
demeanour  made  her  somewhat  suspicious;  for 
Tommy  was  transparent  as  the  day. 

Mrs.  Ralston's  return  made  her  life  consider- 
ably easier.  They  took  up  their  friendship  exactly 
where  they  had  left  it  and  found  it  wholly  satis- 
factory. When  Lady  Harriet  Mansfield  made  her 
stately  appearance,  Stella's  position  was  assured. 
No  one  looked  askance  at  her  any  longer.  Even 
Mrs.  Burton's  criticism  was  limited  to  a  strictly 
secret  smile. 

Netta  Ermsted  was  the  last  to  leave  Bhulwana. 
She  returned  nervous  and  fretful,  accompanied 
by  Tessa  whose  joy  over  rejoining  her  friends  was 
as  patent  as  her  mother's  discontent.  Tessa  had 
a  great  deal  to  say  in  disparagement  of  the  Rajah 
of  Markestan,  and  said  it  so  often  and  with  such 
emphasis  that  at  last  Captain  Ermsted 's  patience 
gave  way  and  he  forbade  all  mention  of  the  man 
under  penalty  of  a  severe  slapping.  When  Tessa 
had  ignored  the  threat  for  the  third  time  he  carried 
it  out  with  such  thoroughness  that  even  Netta  was 
startled  into  remonstrance. 

"You  are  quite  right  to  keep  the  child  in  order, " 
she  said.  ' '  But  you  needn't  tnat  her  like  that.  I 
call  it  brutal." 

"You  can  call  it  what  you  like, "  said  Ermsted. 
"I  did  it  quite  as  much  for  your  benefit  as  for 
hers." 


1 86       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Netta  tossed  her  head.  "I'm  not  a  sentimental 
mother,"  she  observed.  "You  won't  punish  me 
in  that  way.  I  object  to  a  commotion,  that's 
all." 

He  took  her  by  the  shoulder.  "Do  you?"  he 
said.  "Then  I  advise  you  to  be  mighty  careful, 
for,  I  warn  you,  my  blood  is  up. " 

She  made  a  face  at  him,  albeit  there  was  a  qual- 
ity of  menace  in  his  hold.  "Are  you  going  to 
treat  me  as  you  have  just  treated  Tessa?" 

His  teeth  were  clenched  upon  his  lower  lip. 
"Don't  be  a  little  devil,  Netta!"  he  said. 

She  snapped  her  fingers.  "Then  don't  you  be  a 
big  fool,  most  noble  Richard!  It  doesn't  pay  to 
bully  a  woman.  She  can  always  get  her  own  back 
one  way  or  another.  Remember  that ! ' ' 

He  gripped  her  suddenly  by  both  arms.  "By 
Heaven!"  he  said  passionately.  "I'll  do  worse 
than  beat  you  if  you  dare  to  trifle  with  me!" 

She  tried  to  laugh,  but  his  look  frightened  her. 
She  turned  as  white  as  the  muslin  wrap  she  wore. 
"Richard — Dick — don't,"  she  gasped  helplessly. 

He  held  her  locked  to  him.  "You've  gone  too 
far,"  he  said. 

"I  haven't,  Dick!  I  haven't!"  she  protested. 
"Dick,  I  swear  to  you — I  have  never — I  have 
never " 

He  stopped  the  words  upon  her  lips  with  his 
own,  but  his  kiss  was  terrible.  She  shrank  from  it 
trembling,  appalled. 

In  a  moment  he  let  her  go,  and  she  sank  upon  her 


The  Truce  187 

couch,  hiding  her  quivering  face  with  convulsive 
weeping. 

' '  You  are  cruel !     You  are  cruel ! ' '  she  sobbed. 

He  remained  beside  her,  looking  down  at  her  till 
some  of  the  sternness  passed  from  his  face. 

He  bent  at  last  and  touched  her.  "I'm  not 
cruel,"  he  said.  "I'm  just  in  earnest,  that's  all. 
You  be  careful  for  the  future !  There's  a  bit  of  the 
devil  in  me  too  when  I'm  goaded." 

She  drew  herself  away  from  him,  half -frightened 
still  and  half  petulant.  "You  used  to  be — ever  so 
much  nicer  than  you  are  now,"  she  said,  keeping 
her  face  averted. 

He  answered  her  sombrely  as  he  turned  away, 
"I  used  to  have  a  wife  that  I  honoured  before  all 
creation." 

She  sprang  to  her  feet.  "Dick!  How  can  you 
be  so  horrid?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  he  walked  to  the 
door.  "I  was — a  big  fool, "  he  said  very  bitterly. 

The  door  closed  upon  him.  Netta  stood  staring 
at  it,  tragic  and  tear-stained. 

Suddenly  she  stamped  her  foot  and  whirled 
round  in  a  rage.  "I  won't  be  treated  like  a 
naughty  child!  I  won't — I  won't!  I'll  write  to 
my  Arabian  Knight — I  '11  write  now — and  tell  him 
how  wretched  I  am !  If  Dick  objects  to  our  friend- 
ship I'll  just  leave  him,  that's  all.  I  was  a  donkey 
ever  to  marry  him.  I  always  knew  we  shouldn't 
get  on." 

She  paused,  listening,  half -fearing,  half -hoping, 


i88       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

that  she  had  heard  him  returning.  Then  she  heard 
his  voice  in  the  next  room.  He  was  talking  to 
Tessa. 

She  set  her  lips  and  went  to  her  writing-table. 
"Oh  yes,  he  can  make  it  up  with  his  child  when 
he  knows  he  has  been  brutal;  but  never  a  single 
kind  word  to  his  wife — not  one  word!" 

She  took  up  a  pen  with  fingers  that  trembled 
with  indignation,  and  began  to  write. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  OASIS 

FOR  two  months  Tommy  possessed  his  impulsive 
soul  in  patience.  For  two  months  he  watched 
Monck  go  his  impassive  and  inscrutable  way,  ask- 
ing no  further  question.  The  gaieties  of  the  sta- 
tion were  in  full  swing.  Christmas  was  close  at 
hand. 

Stella  was  making  definite  plans  for  departure 
in  the  New  Year.  She  could  not  satisfy  herself 
with  an  idle  life,  though  Tommy  vehemently 
opposed  the  idea  of  her  going.  Monck  never 
opposed  it.  He  listened  silently  when  she  spoke 
of  it,  sometimes  faintly  smiling.  She  often  saw 
him.  He  came  to  the  Green  Bungalow  in  Tommy's 
company  at  all  hours  of  the  day.  She  met  him 
constantly  at  the  Club,  and  he  never  failed  to  come 
to  her  side  there  and  by  some  means  known  only 
to  himself  to  banish  the  crowd  of  subalterns  who 
were  wont  to  gather  round  her.  He  asserted  no 
claim,  but  the  claim  existed  and  was  mutely  recog- 
nized. He  never  spoke  to  her  intimately.  He 
never  attempted  to  pass  the  bounds  of  ordinary 
friendship.  Only  very  rarely  did  he  make  her 
189 


IQO       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

aware  that  her  company  was  a  pleasure  to  him. 
But  the  fact  remained  that  she  was  the  only  woman 
that  he  ever  sought,  and  the  tongues  of  all  the  rest 
were  busy  in  consequence. 

As  for  Stella,  she  still  told  herself  that  she  would 
escape  with  her  freedom.  He  would  speak,  she 
was  convinced,  before  she  left.  She  even  some- 
times told  herself  that  after  what  had  passed 
between  them,  it  was  almost  incumbent  upon  him 
to  speak.  But  she  believed  that  he  would  accept 
her  refusal  philosophically,  possibly  even  with 
relief.  She  restrained  herself  forcibly  from  dwell- 
ing upon  the  thought  of  him.  Again  and  again 
she  reminded  herself  that  he  trod  the  way  of 
ambition.  His  heart  was  given  to  his  work,  and  a 
man  may  not  serve  two  masters.  He  cared  for 
her,  probably,  but  in  a  calm,  judicial  fashion  that 
could  never  satisfy  her.  If  she  married  him  she 
would  come  second — and  a  very  poor  second — to 
his  profession.  And  so  she  did  not  mean  to  marry 
him.  And  so  she  checked  the  fevered  memory  of 
passionate  kisses  that  had  burned  her  to  the  soul, 
of  arms  that  had  clasped  and  held  her  by  a  force 
colossal.  That  had  been  only  the  primitive  man 
in  him,  escaped  for  the  moment  beyond  his  control 
— the  primitive  man  which  he  had  well-nigh  suc- 
ceeded in  stifling  with  the  bonds  of  his  servitude. 
Had  he  not  told  her  that  he  would  have  given  all  he 
had  to  forget  that  single  wild  lapse  into  savagery? 
She  was  sure  that  he  despised  himself  for  it.  He 
would  never  for  an  instant  suffer  such  an  impulse 


The  Oasis  191 

again.  He  did  not  really  love  her.  It  was  not  in 
him  to  love  any  woman.  He  would  make  her  a 
formal  offer  of  marriage,  and  when  she  had  refused 
him  he  would  dismiss  the  matter  from  his  mind  and 
return  to  his  work  undisturbed. 

So  she  schooled  herself  to  make  her  plans,  leav- 
ing him  out  of  the  reckoning,  telling  herself  ever 
that  her  newly  restored  freedom  was  too  dear  ever 
to  be  sacrificed  again.  In  Mrs.  Ralston's  company 
she  attended  some  of  the  social  gatherings  of  the 
station,  but  she  took  no  keen  pleasure  in  them. 
She  disliked  Lady  Harriet,  she  distrusted  Mrs. 
Burton,  and  more  often  than  not  she  remained 
away.  The  coming  Christmas  festivities  did  not 
attract  her.  She  held  aloof  till  Tommy  who  was 
in  the  thick  of  everything  suddenly  and  vehe- 
mently demanded  her  presence. 

"It's  ridiculous  to  be  so  stand-offish,"  he  main- 
tained. ' '  Don't  let  'em  think  you're  afraid  of  'em ! 
Come  anyway  to  the  moonlight  picnic  at  Khan- 
mulla  on  Christmas  Eve !  It's  going  to  be  no  end 
of  a  game." 

Stella  smiled  a  little.  "Do  you  know,  Tommy, 
I  think  I'd  rather  go  to  bed?" 

1 '  Absurd ! ' '  declared  Tommy.  ' '  You  used  to  be 
much  more  sporting." 

"I  wasn't  a  widow  in  those  days, "  Stella  said. 

"What  rot!  What  damn'  rot!"  cried  Tommy 
wrathfully.  * 

"There  is  no  altering  the  fact,"  said  Stella. 

He  left  her,  fuming. 


i92       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

That  evening  as  she  sat  on  the  Club  verandah 
with  Mrs.  Ralston,  watching  some  tennis,  Monck 
came  up  behind  her  and  stood  against  the  wall 
smoking  a  cigarette. 

He  did  not  speak  for  some  time  and  after  a  word 
of  greeting  Stella  turned  back  to  the  play.  But 
presently  Mrs.  Ralston  got  up  and  went  away,  and 
after  an  interval  Monck  came  silently  forward  and 
took,  the  vacant  seat. 

Tommy  was  among  the  players.  His  play  was 
always  either  surprisingly  brilliant  or  amazingly 
bad,  and  on  this  particular  evening  he  was  winning 
all  the  honours. 

Stella  was  joining  in  the  general  applause  after  a 
particularly  fine  stroke  when  suddenly  Monck's 
voice  spoke  at  her  side. 

"Why  don't  you  take  a  hand  sometimes  instead 
of  always  looking  on?" 

The  question  surprised  her.  She  glanced  at  him 
in  momentary  embarrassment,  met  his  straight 
look,  and  smiled. 

"Perhaps  I  am  lazy." 

"That  isn't  the  reason,"  he  said.  "Why  do  you 
lead  a  hermit's  life?  Do  you  follow  your  own 
inclination  in  so  doing?  Or  are  you  merely  prov- 
ing yourself  a  slave  to  an  unwritten  law?" 

His  voice  was  curt;  it  held  mastery.  But  yet 
she  could  not  resent  it,  for  behind  it  was  a  masked 
kindness  which  deprived  it  of  offence. 

She  decided  to  treat  the  question  lightly.  ' '  Per- 
haps a  little  of  both, "  she  said.  ' '  Besides,  it  seems 


The  Oasis  193 

scarcely  worth  while  to  try  to  get  into  the  swim 
now  when  I  am  leaving  so  soon." 

He  made  an  abrupt  movement  which  seemed 
to  denote  suppressed  impatience.  "You  are  too 
young  to  say  that,"  he  said. 

She  laughed  a  little.  "I  don't  feel  young.  I 
think  life  moves  faster  in  tropical  countries.  I 
have  lived  years  since  I  have  been  here,  and  I  am 
glad  of  a  rest." 

He  was  silent  for  a  space;  then  again  abruptly 
he  returned  to  the  charge.  "You're  not  going  to 
waste  all  the  best  of  your  life  over  a  memory,  are 
you?  The  finest  man  in  the  world  isn't  worth 
that." 

She  felt  the  colour  rise  in  her  face  as  she 
made  reply.  "I  hope  I  am  not  going  to  waste 
my  life  at  all.  Is  it  a  waste  not  to  spend  it 
in  a  feverish  round  of  social  pleasures?  If  so,  I 
do  not  think  you  are  in  a  position  to  condemn 
me." 

She  saw  his  brief  smile  for  an  instant.  "My  life 
is  occupied  with  other  things,"  he  said.  "But  I 
don't  lead  a  hermit's  existence.  I  am  going  to  the 
officers'  picnic  at  Khanmulla  on  the  twenty-fourth 
for  instance." 

"Being  a  case  of  'Needs  must',"  suggested 
Stella. 

"  By  no  means. ' '  Monck  leaned  forward  to  light 
another  cigarette.  "I  am  going  for  a  particular 
purpose.  If  that  purpose  is  not  fulfilled — "  he 
paused  a  moment  and  she  felt  his  eyes  upon  her 


194       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

again — "I  shall  come  straight  back,"  he  ended 
with  a  certain  doggedness  of  determination  that 
did  not  escape  her. 

Stella's  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the  court  below  her 
and  she  kept  it  there,  but  she  saw  nothing  of  the 
game.  Her  heart  was  beating  oddly  in  leaps  and 
jerks.  She  felt  curiously  as  if  she  were  under  the 
influence  of  an  electric  battery;  every  nerve  and 
every  vein  seemed  to  be  tingling. 

He  had  not  asked  a  question,  yet  she  felt  that  in 
some  fashion  he  had  made  it  incumbent  upon  her 
to  speak  in  answer.  In  the  silence  that  followed 
his  words  she  was  aware  of  an  insistence  that  would 
not  be  denied.  She  tried  to  put  it  from  her,  but 
could  not.  In  the  end,  more  than  half  against  her 
will,  she  yielded. 

"I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  go,"  she  said,  "if 
only  to  pacify  Tommy." 

"A  very  good  and  sufficient  reason,"  commented 
Monck  enigmatically. 

He  lingered  on  beside  her  for  a  while,  but  nothing 
further  of  an  intimate  nature  passed  between 
them.  She  felt  that  he  had  gained  his  objective 
and  would  say  no  more.  The  truce  between  them 
was  to  be  observed  until  the  psychological  mo- 
ment arrived  to  break  it,  and  that  moment  would 
occur  some  time  on  Christmas  Eve  in  the  moonlit 
solitudes  of  Khanmulla. 

Later  she  reflected  that  perhaps  it  was  as  well  to 
go  and  get  it  over.  She  could  not  deny  him  his 
opportunity,  and  it  would  not  take  long — she  was 


The  Oasis  195 

sure  it  would  not  take  long  to  convince  him  that 
they  were  better  as  they  were. 

Had  he  been  younger,  less  wedded  to  his  work, 
less  the  slave  of  his  ambition,  things  might  have 
been  different.  Had  she  never  been  married  to 
Ralph  Dacre,  never  known  the  bondage  of  those 
few  strange  weeks,  she  might  have  been  more  ready 
to  join  her  life  to  his. 

But  Fate  had  intervened  between  them,  and 
their  paths  now  lay  apart.  He  realized  it  as  well 
as  she  did.  He  would  not  press  her.  Their  eyes 
were  open,  and  if  the  oasis  in  the  desert  had  seemed 
desirable  to  either  for  a  space,  yet  each  knew  that 
it  was  no  abiding-place. 

Their  appointed  ways  lay  in  the  waste  beyond, 
diverging  ever  more  and  more,  till  presently  even 
the  greenness  of  that  oasis  in  which  they  had  met 
together  would  be  no  more  to  either  than  a  half- 
forgotten  dream. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   SURRENDER 

THE  moon  was  full  on  Christmas  Eve.  It 
shone  in  such  splendour  that  the  whole  world  was 
transformed  into  a  fairyland  of  black  and  silver. 
Stella  stood  on  the  verandah  of  the  Green  Bunga- 
low looking  forth  into  the  dazzling  night  with  a 
tremor  at  her  heart.  The  glory  of  it  was  in  a 
sense  overwhelming.  It  made  her  feel  oddly 
impotent,  almost  afraid,  as  if  some  great  power 
menaced  her.  She  had  never  felt  the  ruthlessness 
of  the  East  more  strongly  than  she  felt  it  that 
night.  But  the  drugged  feeling  that  had  so  pos- 
sessed her  in  the  mountains  was  wholly  absent 
from  her  now.  She  felt  vividly  alive,  almost 
painfully  conscious  of  the  quick  blood  pulsing 
through  her  veins.  She  was  aware  of  an  intense 
longing  to  escape  even  while  the  magic  of  the  night 
yet  drew  her  irresistibly.  Deep  in  her  heart  there 
lurked  an  uncertainty  which  she  could  not  face. 
Up  to  that  moment  she  had  been  barely  aware  of 
its  existence,  but  now  she  felt  it  stirring,  and 
strangely  she  was  afraid.  Was  it  the  call  of  the 
East,  the  wonder  of  the  moonlight?  Or  was  it 
196 


The  Surrender  197 

some  greater  thing  yet,  such  as  had  never  before 
entered  into  her  life?  She  could  not  say;  but  her 
face  was  still  firmly  set  towards  the  goal  of  liberty. 
Whatever  was  in  store  for  her,  she  meant  to  extri- 
cate herself.  She  meant  to  cling  to  her  freedom 
at  all  costs.  When  next  she  stood  upon  that  ve- 
randah, the  ordeal  she  had  begun  to  dread  so  need- 
lessly, so  unreasonably,  would  be  over,  and  she 
would  have  emerged  triumphant. 

So  she  told  herself,  even  while  the  shiver  of  appre- 
hension which  she  could  not  control  went  through 
her,  causing  her  to  draw  her  wrap  more  closely 
about  her  though  there  was  nought  but  a  pleasant 
coolness  in  the  soft  air  that  blew  across  the  plain. 

She  and  Tommy  were  to  drive  with  the  Ralstons 
to  the  ruined  palace  in  the  jungle  of  Khanmulla 
where  the  picnic  was  to  take  place.  She  had  never 
seen  it,  but  had  heard  it  described  as  the  most 
romantic  spot  in  Markestan.  It  had  been  the  site 
of  a  fierce  battle  in  some  bye-gone  age,  and  its 
glories  had  departed.  For  centuries  it  had  lain 
deserted  and  crumbling.  Yet  some  of  its  ancient 
beauty  remained.  Its  marble  floors  and  walls  of 
carved  stone  were  not  utterly  obliterated  though 
only  owls  and  flying-foxes  made  it  their  dwelling- 
place.  Natives  regarded  it  with  superstitious  awe 
and  seldom  approached  it.  But  Europeans  all 
looked  upon  it  as  the  most  beautiful  corner  within 
reach,  and  had  it  been  nearer  to  Kurrumpore,  it 
would  have  been  a  far  more  frequented  play- 
ground than  it  was. 


i98       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

The  hoot  of  a  motor-horn  broke  suddenly  upon 
the  silence,  and  Stella  started.  It  was  the  horn 
of  Major  Ralston's  little  two-seater;  she  knew  it 
well.  But  they  had  not  proposed  using  it  that 
night.  She  and  Tommy  were  to  accompany  them 
in  a  waggonette.  The  crunching  of  wheels  and 
throb  of  the  engine  at  the  gate  told  her  it  was 
stopping.  Then  the  Ralstons  had  altered  then- 
plans,  unless — Something  suddenly  leapt  up  within 
her.  She  was  conscious  of  a  curious  constriction 
at  the  throat,  a  sense  of  suffocation.  The  fuss  and 
worry  of  the  engine  died  down  into  silence,  and  in  a 
moment  there  came  the  sound  of  a  man's  feet 
entering  the  compound.  Standing  motionless, 
with  hands  clenched  against  her  sides,  she  gazed 
forth.  A  tall,  straight  figure  was  coming  towards 
her  between  the  whispering  tamarisks.  It  was  not 
Major  Ralston.  He  walked  with  a  slouch,  and  this 
man's  gait  was  firm  and  purposeful.  He  came  up 
to  the  verandah-steps  with  unfaltering  determina- 
tion. He  was  looking  full  at  her,  and  she  knew 
that  she  stood  revealed  in  the  marvellous  Indian 
moonlight.  He  mounted  the  steps  with  the  same 
absolute  self-assurance  that  yet  held  nought  of 
arrogance.  His  face  remained  in  shadow,  but  she 
did  not  need  to  see  it.  The  reason  of  his  coming 
was  proclaimed  in  every  line,  in  every  calm, 
unwavering  movement. 

He  came  to  her,  and  she  waited  there  in  the 
merciless  moonlight;  for  she  had  no  choice. 

"I  have  come  for  you,"  he  said. 


The  Surrender  199 

The  words  were  brief,  but  they  thrilled  her 
strangely.  Her  eyes  fluttered  and  refused  to  meet 
his  look. 

"The  Ralstons  are  taking  us,"  she  said. 

Her  tone  was  cold,  her  bearing  aloof.  She  was 
striving  for  self-control.  He  could  not  have 
known  of  the  tumult  within  her.  Yet  he  smiled. 
"They  are  taking  Tommy,"  he  said. 

She  heard  the  stubborn  note  in  his  voice  and 
suddenly  and  completely  the  power  to  resist  went 
from  her. 

She  held  out  her  hand  to  him  with  a  curious 
gesture  of  appeal.  "Captain  Monck,  if  I  come 
with  you " 

His  ringers  closed  about  her  own.  "If?"  he 
said. 

She  made  a  rather  piteous  attempt  to  laugh. 
"Really  I  don't  want  to, "  she  said. 

' '  Really  ? ' '  said  Monck.  He  drew  a  little  nearer 
to  her,  still  holding  her  hand.  His  grasp  was  firm 
and  strong.  ' '  Really  ? "  he  said  again. 

She  stood  in  silence,  for  she  could  not  give  him 
any  answer. 

He  waited  for  a  moment  or  two;  then,  "Stella," 
he  said,  "are  you  afraid  of  me?" 

She  shook  her  head.  Her  lips  had  begun  to 
tremble  inexplicably.  "No — no,"  she  said. 

' '  What  then  ? ' '  He  spoke  with  a  gentleness  that 
she  had  never  heard  from  him  before.  ' '  Of  your- 
self?" 

She  turned  her  face  away  from  him/    "I  am 


200       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

afraid — of  life,"  she  told  him  brokenly.  "It  is 
like  a  great  Wheel — a  vast  machinery.  I  have 
been  caught  in  it  once — caught  and  crushed.  Oh 
can't  you  understand?" 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

Again  for  a  space  he  was  silent,  his  hand  yet 
holding  hers.  There  was  subtle  comfort  in  his 
grasp.  It  held  protection. 

"And  so  you  want  to  run  away  from  it?"  he 
said  at  length.  "Do  you  think  that's  going  to 
help  you?" 

She  choked  back  a  sob.  "I  don't  know.  I 
have  no  judgment.  I  don't  trust  myself. " 

1 '  You  believe  in  sincerity  ? "  he  said.  ' '  In  being 
true  to  yourself?"  Then,  as  she  winced,  "No,  I 
don't  want  to  go  over  old  ground.  We  are  talking 
of  present  things.  I'm  not  going  to  pester  you. 
not  going  to  ask  you  to  marry  me  even — "  again 
she  was  aware  of  his  smile  though  his  speech 
sounded  grim — "until  you  have  honestly  answered 
the  question  that  you  are  trying  to  shirk.  Perhaps 
you  won't  thank  me  for  reminding  you  a  second 
time  of  a  conversation  that  you  and  I  once  had  on 
this  very  spot,  but  I  must.  I  told  you  that  I  had 
been  waiting  for  my  turn.  And  you  told  me  that  I 
had  come — too  late." 

He  paused,  but  she  did  not  speak.  She  was 
trembling  from  head  to  foot. 

He  leaned  towards  her.  "Stella,  I'm  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  make  the  same  mistake  twice  over.  I'm 
not  going  to  miss  my  turn  a  second  time.  I  loved 


The  Surrender  201 

you  then — though  I  had  never  flattered  myself  that 
I  had  a  chance.  And  my  love  isn't  the  kind  that 
burns  and  goes  out."  His  voice  suddenly  quiv- 
ered. "I  don't  know  whether  you  have  any  use 
for  it.  You  have  been  too  discreet  and  cautious 
to  betray  yourself.  Your  heart  has  been  a  closed 
book  to  me.  But  to-night — I  am  going  to  open 
that  book.  I  have  the  right,  and  you  can't  deny  it 
to  me.  If  you  were  queen  of  the  whole  earth  I 
should  still  have  the  right,  because  I  love  you,  to 
ask  you — as  I  ask  you  now — have  you  any  love  for 
me?  There!  I  have  done  it.  If  you  can  tell  me 
honestly  that  I  am  nothing  to  you,  that  is  the  end. 
But  if  not — if  not — "  again  she  heard  a  deep  vi- 
bration in  his  voice — "then  don't  be  afraid — in  the 
name  of  Heaven!  Marriage  with  me  would  not 
mean  slavery." 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  turned  from  her. 
From  the  room  behind  them  there  came  a  cheery 
hail.  Tommy  came  tramping  through. 

' '  Hullo,  old  chap !  You,  is  it  ?  Has  Stella  been 
attending  to  your  comfort?  Have  you  had  a 
drink?" 

Monck's  answer  had  a  sardonic  note,  "Your 
sister  has  been  kindness  itself — as  she  always  is. 
No  drinks  for  me,  thanks.  I  am  just  off  in  Ral- 
ston's  car  to  Khanmulla."  He  turned  deliber- 
ately back  again  to  Stella.  "Will  you  come  with 
me?  Or  will  you  go  with  Tommy — and  the  Ral- 
stons?" 

There  was  neither  anxiety  nor  persuasion  in  his 


202       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

voice.  Tommy  frowned  over  its  utter  lack  of 
emotion.  He  did  not  think  his  friend  was  playing 
his  cards  well. 

But  to  Stella  that  coolness  had  a  different  mean- 
ing. It  stirred  her  to  an  impulse  more  headlong 
than  at  the  moment  she  realized. 

"I  will  come  with  you,"  she  said.  . 

"Good!"  said  Monck  simply,  and  stood  back  for 
her  to  pass. 

She  went  by  him  without  a  glance.  She  felt 
as  if  the  wild  throbbing  of  her  heart  would  choke 
her.  He  had  spoken  in  such  a  fashion  as  she  had 
dreamed  that  he  could  ever  speak.  He  had  spoken 
and  she  had  not  sent  him  away.  That  was  the 
thought  that  most  disturbed  her.  Till  that  mo- 
ment it  had  seemed  a  comparatively  easy  thing  to 
do.  Her  course  had  been  clear.  But  he  had  appealed 
to  that  within  her  which  could  not  be  ignored. 
He  had  appealed  to  the  inner  truth  of  her  nature, 
and  she  could  not  close  her  ears  to  that.  He  asked 
her  only  to  be  true  to  herself.  He  had  taken  his 
stand  on  higher  ground  than  that  on  which  she 
stood.  He  had  not  urged  any  plea  on  his  own 
behalf.  He  had  only  urged  her  to  be  honest.  And 
in  so  doing  he  had  laid  bare  that  ancient  mistake 
of  hers  that  had  devastated  her  life.  He  did  not 
desire  her  upon  the  same  terms  as  those  upon 
which  she  had  bestowed  herself  upon  Ralph  Dacre. 
He  made  that  abundantly  clear.  He  did  not 
ask  her  to  subordinate  her  happiness  to  his.  He 
only  asked  for  straight  dealing  from  her,  and  she 


The  Surrender  203 

knew  that  he  asked  it  as  much  for  her  sake  as  for 
his  own.  He  would  not  seek  to  hold  her  if  she  did 
not  love  him.  That  was  the  great  touchstone  to 
which  he  had  brought  her,  and  she  knew  that  she 
must  face  the  test.  The  mastery  of  his  love  com- 
pelled her.  As  he  had  freely  asserted,  he  had  the 
right — just  because  he  was  an  honourable  man  and 
he  loved  her  honourably. 

But  how  far  would  that  love  of  his  carry  him? 
She  longed  to  know.  It  was  not  the  growth  of  a 
brief  hour's  passion.  That  at  least  she  knew.  It 
would  not  burn  and  go  out.  It  would  endure; 
somehow  she  realized  that  now  past  disputing. 
But  was  it  first  and  greatest  with  him?  Were  his 
cherished  career,  his  ambition,  of  small  account 
beside  it?  Was  he  willing  to  do  sacrifice  to  it? 
And  if  so,  how  great  a  sacrifice  was  he  prepared  to 
offer? 

She  yearned  to  ask  him  as  he  sped  her  in  silence 
through  the  chequered  moonlight  of  the  Khaa- 
mulla  jungle.  But  some  inner  force  restrained 
her.  She  feared  to  break  the  spell. 

The  road  was  deserted,  just  as  it  had  been  on 
that  dripping  night  when  she  had  answered  his 
summons  to  Tommy's  sick  bed.  She  recalled  that 
wild  rush  through  the  darkness,  his  grim  strength, 
his  determination.  The  iron  of  his  will  had  seemed 
to  compass  her  then.  Was  it  the  same  to-night? 
Had  her  freedom  already  been  wrested  from  her? 
Was  there  to  be  no  means  of  escape? 

Through  the  jungle  solitudes  there  came  the  call 


2<H       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

of  an  owl,  weird  and  desolate  and  lonely.  Some- 
thing in  it  pierced  her  with  a  curious  pain.  Was 
freedom  then  everything  ?  Did  she  truly  love  the 
silence  above  all? 

She  drew  her  cloak  closer  about  her.  Was  there 
something  of  a  chill  in  the  atmosphere  ?  Or  was  it 
the  chill  of  the  desert  beyond  the  oasis  that  awaited 
her? 

They  emerged  from  the  thickest  part  of  the 
jungle  into  a  space  of  tangled  shrubs  that  seemed 
fighting  with  each  other  for  possession  of  the  way. 
The  road  was  rough,  and  Monck  slackened  speed. 

"We  shall  have  to  leave  the  car,"  he  said. 
"There  is  a  track  here  that  leads  to  the  ruined 
palace.  It  is  only  a  hundred  yards  or  so.  We 
shall  have  to  do  it  on  foot." 

They  descended.  The  moonlight  poured  in  a 
flood  all  about  them.  They  were  alone. 

Stella  turned  up  the  narrow  path  he  indicated, 
but  in  a  moment  he  overtook  her.  "Let  me  go 
first!"  he  said. 

He  passed  her  with  the  words  and  walked  ahead, 
holding  the  creepers  back  from  her  as  she  followed. 

She  suffered  him  silently,  with  a  strange  sense 
of  awe,  almost  as  though  she  trod  holy  ground. 
But  the  old  feeling  of  trespass  was  wholly  absent. 
She  had  no  fear  of  being  cast  forth  from  this  place 
that  she  was  about  to  enter. 

The  path  began  to  widen  somewhat  and  to 
ascend.  In  a  few  moments  they  came  upon  a 
crumbling  stonewall  crossing  it  at  right  angles. 


The  Surrender  205 

Monck  paused.  "One  way  leads  to  the  palace, 
the  other  to  the  temple,"  he  said.  "Which  shall 
we  take?" 

Stella  faced  him  in  the  moonlight.  She  thought 
he  looked  stern.  "Is  not  the  picnic  to  be  at  the 
palace?"  she  said. 

"Yes."  He  answered  her  without  hesitation. 
"You  will  find  Lady  Harriet  and  Co.  there.  The 
temple  on  the  other  hand  is  probably  deserted." 

"Ah!"  His  meaning  flashed  upon  her.  She 
stood  a  second  in  indecision.  Then  "Is  it  far?" 
she  said. 

She  saw  his  faint  smile  for  an  instant.  "A  very 
long  way — for  you, "  he  said. 

"I  can  come  back?"  she  said. 

' '  I  shall  not  prevent  you. "  She  heard  the  smile 
in  his  voice,  and  something  within  her  thrilled  in 
answer. 

' '  Let  us  go  then ! "  she  said. 

He  turned  without  further  words  and  led  the 
way. 

They  entered  the  shadow  of  the  jungle  once  more. 
For  a  space  the  path  ran  beside  the  crumbling 
wall,  then  it  diverged  from  it,  winding  darkly  into 
the  very  heart  of  the  jungle.  Monck  walked  with- 
out hesitation.  He  evidently  knew  the  place  well. 

They  came  at  length  upon  a  second  clearing, 
smaller  than  the  first,  and  here  in  the  centre  of  a 
moonlit  space  there  stood  the  ruined  walls  of  a 
little  native  temple  or  mausoleum. 

A  flight  of  worn,  marble  steps  led  to  the  dark 


206       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

arch  of  the  doorway.  Monck  stretched  a  hand  to 
his  companion,  and  they  ascended  side  by  side. 
A  bubbling  murmur  of  water  came  from  within. 
It  seemed  to  fill  the  place  with  gurgling,  gnome- 
like  laughter.  They  entered  and  Monck  stood 
still. 

For  a  space  of  many  seconds  he  neither  moved 
nor  spoke.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  were  waiting 
for  some  signal.  They  looked  forth  into  the  moon- 
light they  had  left  through  the  cave-like  opening. 
The  air  around  them  was  chill  and  dank.  Some- 
where in  the  darkness  behind  them  a  frog  croaked, 
and  tiny  feet  scuttled  and  scrambled  for  a  few 
moments  and  then  were  still. 

Again  Stella  shivered,  drawing  her  cloak  more 
closely  round  her.  ' '  Why  did  you  bring  me  to  this 
eerie  place?"  she  said,  speaking  under  her  breath 
involuntarily. 

He  stirred  as  if  her  words  aroused  him  from  a 
reverie.  "Are  you  afraid?"  he  said. 

' '  I  should  be — by  myself, ' '  she  made  answer. 
"I  don't  think  I  like  India  at  too  close  quarters. 
She  is  so  mysterious  and  so  horribly  ruthless." 

He  passed  over  the  last  two  sentences  as  though 
they  had  not  been  uttered.  "But  you  are  not 
afraid  with  me?"  he  said. 

She  quivered  at  something  in  his  question.  "I 
am  not  sure,"  she  said.  "I  sometimes  think  that 
you  are  rather  ruthless  too." 

"Do  you  know  me  well  enough  to  say  that?"  he 
said. 


The  Surrender  207 

She  tried  to  answer  him  lightly.  "I  ought  to 
by  this  time.  I  have  had  ample  opportunity." 

"Yes,"  he  said  rather  bitterly.  "But  you  are 
prejudiced.  You  cling  to  a  preconceived  idea.  If 
you  love  me — it  is  in  spite  of  yourself. " 

Something  in  his  voice  hurt  her  like  the  cry  of 
a  wounded  thing.  She  made  a  quick,  impulsive 
movement  towards  him.  "Oh,  but  that  is  not 
so!"  she  said.  "You  don't  understand.  Please 
don't  think  anything  so — so  hard  of  me!" 

"Are  you  sure  it  is  not  so?"  he  said.  "Stella! 
Stella !  Are  you  sure  ? ' ' 

The  words  pierced  her  afresh.  She  suddenly 
felt  that  she  could  bear  no  more.  "Oh,  please!" 
she  said.  ' '  Oh,  please ! ' '  and  laid  a  quivering  hand 
upon  his  arm.  "You  are  making  it  very  difficult 
for  me.  Don't  you  realize  how  much  better  it 
would  be  for  your  own  sake  not  to  press  me  any 
further?" 

"No!"  he  said;  just  the  one  word,  spoken  dog- 
gedly, almost  harshly.  His  hands  were  clenched 
and  rigid  at  his  sides. 

Almost  instinctively  she  began  to  plead  with 
him  as  one  who  pleads  for  freedom.  "Ah,  but 
listen  a  moment!  You  have  your  life  to  live. 
Your  career  means  very  much  to  you.  Marriage 
means  hindrance  to  a  man  like  you.  Marriage 
means  loitering  by  the  way.  And  there  is  no 
time  to  loiter.  You  have  taken  up  a  big  thing, 
and  you  must  carry  it  through.  You  must  put 
every  ounce  of  yourself  into  it.  You  must  work 


2o8       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

like  a  galley  slave.  If  you  don't  you  will  be — a 
failure." 

"Who  told  you  that?"  he  demanded. 

She  met  the  fierceness  of  his  eyes  unflinchingly. 
"I  know  it.  Everyone  knows  it.  You  have  given 
yourself  heart  and  soul  to  India,  to  the  Empire. 
Nothing  else  counts — or  ever  can  count  now — in 
the  same  way.  It  is  quite  right  that  it  should 
be  so.  You  are  a  builder,  and  you  must  follow 
your  profession.  You  will  follow  it  to  the  end. 
And  you  will  do  great  things, — immortal  things." 
Her  voice  shook  a  little.  "But  you  must  keep 
free  from  all  hampering  burdens,  all  private 
cares.  Above  all,  you  must  not  think  of  mar- 
riage with  a  woman  whose  chief  desire  is  to  escape 
from  India  and  all  that  India  means,  whose  sym- 
pathies are  utterly  alien  from  her,  and  whose 
youth  has  died  a  violent  death  at  her  hands.  Oh, 
don't  you  see  the  madness  of  it?  Surely  you  must 
see!" 

A  quiver  of  deep  feeling  ran  through  her  words. 
She  had  not  meant  to  go  so  far,  but  she  was  driven, 
driven  by  a  force  that  would  not  be  denied.  She 
wanted  him  to  see  the  matter  with  her  eyes.  Some- 
how that  seemed  essential  now.  Things  had  gone 
so  far  between  them.  It  was  intolerable  now  that 
he  should  misunderstand. 

But  as  she  ceased  to  speak,  she  abruptly  realized 
that  the  effect  of  her  words  was  other  than  she 
intended.  He  had  listened  to  her  with  a  rigid 
patience,  but  as  her  words  went  into  silence  it 


The  Surrender  209 

seemed  as  if  the  iron  will  by  which  till  then  he  had 
held  himself  in  check  had  suddenly  snapped. 

He  stood  for  a  second  or  two  longer  with  an  odd 
smile  on  his  face  and  that  in  his  eyes  which  startled 
her  into  a  momentary  feeling  that  was  almost  panic ; 
then  with  a  single,  swift  movement  he  bent  and 
caught  her  to  him. 

"And  you  think  that  counts!"  he  said.  "You 
think  that  anything  on  earth  counts — but  this!" 

His  lips  were  upon  hers  as  he  ended,  stopping  all 
protest,  all  utterance.  He  kissed  her  hotly,  fiercely, 
holding  her  so  pressed  that  above  the  wild  throb- 
bing of  her  own  heart  she  felt  the  deep,  strong  beat 
of  his.  His  action  was  passionate  and  overwhelm- 
ing. She  would  have  withstood  him,  but  she 
could  not;  and  there  was  that  within  her  that 
rejoiced,  that  exulted,  because  she  could  not.  Yet 
as  at  last  his  lips  left  hers,  she  turned  her  face 
aside,  hiding  it  from  him  that  he  might  not  see  how 
completely  he  had  triumphed. 

He  laughed  a  little  above  her  bent  head;  he  did 
not  need  to  see.  "Stella,  you  and  I  have  got  to 
sink  or  swim  together.  If  you  won't  have  success 
with  me,  then  I  will  share  your  failure." 

She  quivered  at  his  words;  she  was  clinging  to 
him  almost  without  knowing  it.  "Oh,  no!  Oh, 
no!"  she  said. 

His  hand  came  gently  upwards  and  lay  upon  her 
head.  "My  dear,  that  rests  with  you.  I  have 
sworn  that  marriage  to  me  shall  not  mean  bondage. 
If  India  is  any  obstacle  between  us,  India  will  go." 


210       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said  again.  "No,  Everard! 
No!" 

He  bent  his  face  to  hers.  His  lips  were  on  her 
hair.  "You  love  me,  Stella,"  he  said. 

She  was  silent,  her  breathing  short,  spasmodic, 
difficult. 

His  cheek  pressed  her  forehead.  "Why  not 
own  it  ? "  he  said  softly.  ' '  Is  it — so  hard  ? " 

She  lifted  her  face  swiftly ;  her  arms  clasped  his 
neck.  "And  if — if  I  do, — will  you  let  me  go?" 
she  asked  him  tremulously. 

The  smile  still  hovered  about  his  lips.  "No," 
he  said. 

"It  is  madness,"  she  pleaded  desperately. 

"It  is — Kismet, "  he  made  answer,  and  took  her 
face  between  his  hands  looking  deeply,  steadily, 
into  her  eyes.  "Your  life  is  bound  up  with  mine. 
You  know  it.  Stella,  you  know  it." 

She  uttered  a  sob  that  yet  was  half  laughter. 
"I  have  done  my  best,  "  she  said.  "Why  are  you 
so — so  merciless  ? ' ' 

"You  surrender?"  he  said. 

She  gave  herself  to  the  drawing  of  his  hands. 
"Have  I  any  choice?" 

"Not  if  you  are  honest,"  he  said. 

"Ah!"  She  coloured  rather  painfully.  "I  have 
at  least  been  honest  in  trying  to  keep  you  from  this 
— this  big  mistake.  I  know  you  will  repent  it. 
When  this — fever  is  past,  you  will  regret — oh,  so 
bitterly." 

He  set  his  jaw  and  all  the  grim  strength  of  the 


The  Surrender  211 

man  was  suddenly  apparent.  ' '  Shall  I  tell  you  the 
secret  of  success?"  he  said  abruptly.  "It  is  just 
never  to  look  back.  It  is  the  secret  of  happiness 
also,  if  people  only  realized  it.  If  you  want  to 
make  the  best  of  life,  you've  got  to  look  ahead. 
I'm  going  to  make  you  do  that,  Stella.  You've 
been  sitting  mourning  by  the  wayside  long 
enough." 

She  smiled  almost  in  spite  of  herself,  for  the  note 
of  mastery  in  his  voice  was  inexplicably  sweet. 
"I've  thought  that  myself,"  she  said.  "But  I'm 
not  going  to  let  you  patch  up  my  life  with  yours. 
If  this  must  be — and  you  are  sure — you  are  sure 
that  it  must?" 

"I  have  spoken, "  he  said. 

She  faced  him  resolutely.  "Then  India  shall 
have  us  both.  Now  I  have  spoken  too." 

His  face  changed.  The  grimness  became  eager- 
ness. ' '  Stella,  do  you  mean  that  ? "  he  said.  ' '  It's 
a  big  sacrifice — too  big  for  you. " 

Her  eyes  were  shining  as  stars  shine  through  a 
mist.  She  was  drawing  his  head  downwards  that 
her  lips  might  reach  his.  "Oh,  my  darling,"  she 
said,  and  the  thrill  of  love  triumphant  was  in  her 
words,  "nothing  would  be — too  big.  It  simply 
ceases  to  be  a  sacrifice — if  it  is  done — for  your  dear 
sake." 

Her  lips  met  his  upon  the  words,  and  in  that  kiss 
she  gave  him  all  she  had.  It  was  the  rich  bestowal 
of  a  woman's  full  treasury,  than  which  it  may  be 
there  is  nought  greater  on  earth. 


PART  III 

CHAPTER  I 

BLUEBEARD'S  CHAMBER 

BHULWANA  in  early  spring!  Bhulwana  of  the 
singing  birds  and  darting  squirrels !  Bhulwana  of 
the  pines ! 

Stella  stood  in  the  green  compound  of  the  bunga- 
low known  as  The  Grand  Stand,  gazing  down  upon 
the  green  racecourse  with  eyes  that  dreamed. 

The  evening  was  drawing  near.  They  had 
arrived  but  a  few  minutes  before  in  Major  Ral- 
ston's  car,  and  the  journey  had  taken  the  whole 
day.  Her  mind  went  back  to  that  early  hour 
almost  in  the  dawning  when  she  and  Everard 
Monck  had  knelt  together  before  the  altar  of  the 
little  English  Church  at  Kurrumpore  and  been 
pronounced  man  and  wife.  Mrs.  Ralston  and 
Tommy  alone  had  attended  the  wedding.  The 
hour  had  been  kept  a  strict  secret  from  all  besides. 
And  they  had  gone  straight  forth  into  the  early 
sunlight  of  the  new  day  and  sped  away  into  the 
morning,  rejoicing.  A  blue  jay  had  laughed  after 
them  at  starting,  and  a  blue  jay  was  laughing  now 


Bluebeard's  Chamber          213 

in  the  budding  acacia  by  the  gate.  There  seemed 
a  mocking  note  in  its  laughter,  but  it  held  gaiety 
as  well.  Listening  to  it,  she  forgot  all  the  weary 
miles  of  desert  through  which  they  had  travelled. 
The  world  was  fair,  very  fair,  here  at  Bhulwana. 
And  they  were  alone. 

There  fell  a  step  on  the  grass  behind  her;  she 
thrilled  and  turned.  He  came  and  put  his  arm 
around  her. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  stand  seven  days  of  it? " 
he  said. 

She  leaned  her  head  against  him.  "I  want  to 
catch  every  moment  of  them  and  hold  it  fast. 
How  shall  we  make  the  time  pass  slowly  ? " 

He  smiled  at  the  question.  "Do  you  know,  I 
was  afraid  this  place  wouldn't  appeal  to  you?" 

Her  hand  sought  and  closed  upon  his.  "Ah, 
why  not?"  she  said. 

He  did  not  answer  her.  Only,  with  his  face 
bent  down  to  hers,  he  said,  "The  past  is  past 
then?" 

"For  ever,"  she  made  swift  reply.  "But  I 
have  always  loved  Bhulwana — even  in  my  sad 
times.  Ah,  listen!  That  is  a  ko&/" 

They  listened  to  the  bird's  flutelike  piping, 
standing  closely  linked  in  the  shadow  of  a  little 
group  of  pines.  In  the  bungalow  behind  them 
Peter  the  Great  was  decking  the  table  for  their 
wedding-feast.  The  scent  of  white  roses  was  in 
the  air,  languorous,  exquisite. 

The  blue  jay  laughed  again  in  the  acacia  by  the 


214       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

gate,  laughed  and  flew  away.  "Good  riddance!" 
said  Monck. 

"Don't  you  like  him?"  said  Stella. 

"I'm  not  particularly  keen  on  being  jeered  at," 
he  answered. 

She  laughed  at  him  in  her  turn.  "I  never 
thought  you  cared  a  single  anna  what  any  one 
thought  of  you." 

He  smiled.  ' '  Perhaps  I  have  got  more  sensitive 
since  I  knew  you." 

She  lifted  her  lips  to  his  with  a  sudden  move- 
ment. "I  am  like  that  too,  Everard.  I  care — 
terribly  now." 

He  kissed  her,  and  his  kiss  was  passionate. 
"No  one  shall  ever  think  anything  but  good  of 
you,  my  Stella,"  he  said. 

She  clung  to  him.  "Ah,  but  the  outside  world 
doesn't  matter,"  she  said.  "It  is  only  we  our- 
selves, and  our  secret,  innermost  hearts  that  count. 
Everard,  let  us  be  more  than  true  to  each  other! 
Let  us  be  quite,  quite  open — always!" 

He  held  her  fast,  but  he  made  no  answer  to  her 
appeal. 

Her  eyes  sought  his.  "That  is  possible,  isn't 
it?"  she  pleaded.  "My  heart  is  open  to  you. 
There  is  not  a  single  corner  of  it  that  you  may 
not  enter." 

His  arms  clasped  her  closer.  "I  know,"  he 
said.  "I  know.  But  you  mustn't  be  hurt  or 
sorry  if  I  cannot  say  the  same.  My  life  is  a  more 
complex  affair  than  yours,  remember." 


Bluebeard's  Chamber          215 

"Ah!  That  is  India!"  she  said.  "But  let  me 
share  that  part  too !  Let  me  be  a  partner  in  all ! 
I  can  be  as  secret  as  the  wiliest  Oriental  of  them  all. 
I  would  so  love  to  be  trusted.  It  would  make  me 
so  proud ! ' ' 

He  kissed  her  again.  ' '  You  might  be  very  much 
the  reverse  sometimes, "  he  said,  "if  you  knew  some 
of  the  secrets  I  had  to  keep.  India  is  India,  and  she 
can  be  very  lurid  upon  occasion.  There  is  only  one 
way  of  treating  her  then ;  but  I  am  not  going  to  let 
you  into  any  unpleasant  secrets.  That  is  Blue- 
beard's Chamber,  and  you  have  got  to  stay  outside." 

She  made  a  small  but  vehement  gesture  in  his 
arms.  "I  hate  India!"  she  said.  "She  domi- 
nates you  like — like " 

"Like  what?"  he  said. 

She  hid  her  face  from  him.  "Like  a  horrible 
mistress, "  she  whispered. 

"Stella!"  he  said. 

She  throbbed  in  his  hold.  "I  had  to  say  it. 
Are  you  angry  with  me?" 

"No,"  he  said. 

"But  you  don't  like  me  for  it  all  the  same." 
Her  voice  came  muffled  from  his  shoulder.  ' '  You 
don't  realize — very  likely  you  never  will — how 
near  the  truth  it  is. " 

He  was  silent,  but  in  the  silence  his  hold  tight- 
ened upon  her  till  it  was  almost  a  grip. 

She  turned  her  face  up  again  at  last.  "I  told 
you  it  was  madness  to  marry  me, "  she  said  tremu- 
lously. "I  told  you  you  would  repent. " 


216       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  strange  smile.  "And  I 
told  you  it  was — Kismet,"  he  said.  "You  did  it 
because  it  was  written  that  you  should.  For 
better  for  worse — "  his  voice  vibrated — "you  and 
I  are  bound  by  the  same  Fate.  It  was  inevitable, 
and  there  can  be  no  repentance,  just  as  there  can 
be  no  turning  back.  But  you  needn't  hate  India 
on  that  account.  I  have  told  you  that  I  will  give 
her  up  for  your  sake,  and  that  stands.  But  I  will 
not  give  you  up  for  India — or  for  any  other  power 
on  earth.  Now  are  you  satisfied?" 

Her  face  quivered  at  the  question.  "It  is — 
more  than  I  deserve, "  she  said.  "You  shall  give 
up  nothing  for  me. " 

He  put  his  hand  upon  her  forehead.  "Stella, 
will  you  give  her  a  trial?  Give  her  a  year!  Pos- 
sibly by  that  time  I  may  tell  you  more  than  I  am 
able  to  tell  you  now.  I  don't  know  if  you  would 
welcome  it,  but  there  are  always  a  chosen  few  to 
whom  success  comes.  I  may  be  one  of  the  few.  I 
have  a  strong  belief  in  my  own  particular  star. 
Again  I  may  fail.  If  I  fail,  I  swear  I  will  give 
her  up.  I  will  start  again  at  some  new  job.  But 
will  you  be  patient  for  a  year?  Will  you,  my 
darling,  let  me  prove  myself?  I  only  ask — one 
year. " 

Her  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  "Everard!  You 
make  me  feel — ashamed,"  she  said.  "I  won't — 
I  won't — be  a  drag  on  you,  spoil  your  career !  You 
must  forgive  me  for  being  jealous.  It  is  because  I 
love  you  so.  But  I  know  it  is  a  selfish  form  of  love, 


Bluebeard's  Chamber          217 

and  I  won't  give  way  to  it.  I  will  never  separate 
you  from  the  career  you  have  chosen.  I  only  wish 
I  could  be  a  help  to  you. " 

"You  can  only  help  me  by  being  patient — just 
at  present,  "  he  said. 

"And  not  asking  tiresome  questions!"  She 
smiled  at  him  though  her  tears  had  overflowed. 
"But  oh,  you  won't  take  risks,  will  you?  Not 
unnecessary  risks?  It  is  so  terrible  to  think  of 
you  in  danger — to  think — to  think  of  that  horri- 
ble deformed  creature  who  sent — Ralph — "  She 
broke  off  shuddering  and  clinging  to  him.  It  was 
the  first  time  she  had  ever  spoken  of  her  first  hus- 
band by  name  to  him. 

He  dried  the  tears  upon  her  cheeks.  "My  own 
girl,  you  needn't  be  afraid,"  he  said,  and  though 
his  words  were  kind  she  wondered  at  the  grimness 
of  his  voice.  "I  am  not  the  sort  of  person  to  be 
disposed  of  in  that  way.  Shall  we  talk  of  some- 
thing less  agitating?  I  can't  have  you  crying  on 
our  wedding-night. " 

His  tone  was  repressive.  She  was  conscious  of  a 
chill.  Yet  it  was  a  relief  to  turn  from  the  subject, 
for  she  recognized  that  there  was  small  satisfaction 
to  be  derived  therefrom.  The  sun  was  setting 
moreover,  and  it  was  growing  cold.  She  let  him 
lead  her  back  into  the  bungalow,  and  they  pres- 
ently sat  down  at  the  table  that  Peter  had  pre- 
pared with  so  much  solicitude. 

Later  they  lingered  for  awhile  on  the  verandah, 
watching  the  blazing  stars,  till  it  came  to  Monck 


218       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

that  his  bride  was  nearly  dropping  with  weariness 
and  then  he  would  not  suffer  her  to  remain  any 
longer. 

When  she  had  gone  within,  he  lit  a  pipe  and 
wandered  out  alone  into  the  starlight,  following  the 
deserted  road  that  led  to  the  Rajah's  summer 
palace. 

He  paced  along  slowly  with  bent  head,  deep  in 
thought.  At  the  great  marble  gateway  that  led 
into  the  palace-garden  he  paused  and  stood  for  a 
space  in  frowning  contemplation.  A  small  wind 
had  sprung  up  and  moaned  among  the  cypress- 
trees  that  overlooked  the  high  wall.  He  seemed 
to  be  listening  to  it.  Or  was  it  to  the  hoot  of  an 
owl  that  came  up  from  the  valley? 

Finally  he  drew  near  and  deliberately  tapped  the 
ashes  from  his  half-smoked  pipe  upon  the  shining 
marble.  The  embers  smouldered  and  went  out. 
A  black  stain  remained  upon  the  dazzling  white 
surface  of  the  stone  column.  He  looked  at  it  for  a 
moment  or  two,  then  turned  and  retraced  his  steps 
with  grim  precision. 

When  he  reached  the  bungalow,  he  turned  into 
the  room  in  which  they  had  dined;  and  sat  down 
to  write. 

Time  passed,  but  he  took  no  note  of  it.  It  was 
past  midnight  ere  he  thrust  his  papers  together  at 
length  and  rose  to  go. 

The  main  passage  of  the  bungalow  was  bright 
with  moonlight  as  he  traversed  it.  A  crouching 
figure  rose  up  from  a  shadowed  doorway  at  his 


Bluebeard's  Chamber          219 

approach.  Peter  the  Great  looked  at  him  with 
reproach  in  his  eyes. 

Monck  stopped  short.  He  accosted  the  man 
in  his  own  language,  but  Peter  made  answer  in  the 
careful  English  that  was  his  pride. 

"Even  so,  sahib,  I  watch  over  my  mem-sahib 
until  you  come  to  her.  I  keep  her  safe  by  night  as 
well  as  by  day.  I  am  her  servant." 

He  stood  back  with  dignity  that  Monck  might 
pass,  but  Monck  stood  still.  He  looked  at  Peter 
with  a  level  scrutiny  for  a  few  moments.  Then: 
"It  is  enough,"  he  said,  with  brief  decision. 
"When  I  am  not  with  your  mem-sahib,  I  look  to 
you  to  guard  her. " 

Peter  made  his  stately  salaam.  Without 
further  words,  he  conveyed  the  fact  that  without 
his  permission  no  man  might  enter  the  room 
behind  him  and  live. 

Very  softly  Monck  turned  the  handle  of  the 
door  and  passed  within,  leaving  him  alone  in  the 
moonlight. 


CHAPTER  II 

EVIL  TIDINGS 

THEY  walked  on  the  following  morning  over  the 
pine-clad  hill  and  down  into  the  valley  beyond, 
a  place  of  running  streams  and  fresh  spring  ver- 
dure. Stella  revelled  in  its  sweetness.  It  made 
her  think  of  Home. 

"You  haven't  told  me  anything  about  your 
brother,"  she  said,  as  they  sat  together  on  a  grey 
boulder  and  basked  in  the  sunshine. 

"Haven't  I?"  Monck  spoke  meditatively. 
"I've  got  a  photograph  of  him  somewhere.  You 
must  see  it.  You'll  like  my  brother, "  he  added, 
with  a  smile.  "He  isn't  a  bit  like  me. " 

She  laughed.  "That's  a  recommendation  cer- 
tainly. But  tell  me  what  he  is  like!  I  want  to 
know. " 

Monck  considered.  "He  is  a  short,  thick-set 
chap,  stout  and  red,  rather  like  a  comedian  in  face. 
I  think  he  appreciates  a  joke  more  than  any  one 
I  know." 

' '  He  sounds  a  dear ! ' '  said  Stella ;  and  added  with 
a  gay  side-glance,  "and  certainly  not  in  the  least 
like  you.  Have  you  written  yet  to  break  the  news 
of  your  very  rash  marriage? " 


Evil  Tidings  221 

"Yes,  I  wrote  two  days  ago.  He  will  probably 
cable  his  blessing.  That  is  the  sort  of  chap  he  is. " 

"It  will  be  rather  a  shock  for  him, "  Stella  ob- 
served. "You  had  no  idea  of  changing  your 
state  when  you  saw  him  last  summer. " 

There  fell  a  somewhat  abrupt  silence.  Monck 
was  filling  his  pipe  and  the  process  seemed  to 
engross  all  his  thoughts.  Finally,  rather  suddenly, 
he  spoke.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  didn't  see  him 
last  summer." 

"You  didn't  see  him!"  Stella  opened  her  eyes 
wide.  "  Not  when  you  went  Home  ?" 

"I  didn't  go  Home."  Monck's  eyes  were  still 
fixed  upon  his  pipe.  "No  one  knows  that  but 
you,"  he  said,  "and  one  other.  That  is  the  first 
secret  out  of  Bluebeard's  chamber  that  I  have 
confided  in  you.  Keep  it  close!" 

Stella  sat  and  gazed ;  but  he  would  not  meet  her 
eyes.  "Tell  me,"  she  said  at  last,  "who  is  the 
other?  The  Colonel?" 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,  not  the  Colonel, 
You  mustn't  ask  questions,  Stella,  if  I  ever  expand 
at  all.  If  you  do,  I  shall  shut  up  like  a  clam,  and 
you  may  get  pinched  in  the  process. " 

She  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm.  "I  will 
remember,"  she  said.  "Thank  you — ever  so 
much — for  telling  me.  I  will  bury  it  very  deep. 
No  one  shall  ever  suspect  it  through  me. " 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  He  pressed  her  hand,  but 
he  kept  his  eyes  lowered.  ' '  I  know  I  can  trust  you. 
You  won't  try  to  find  out  the  things  I  keep  back.  " 


222       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

' '  Oh,  never ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  Never !  I  shall  never 
try  to  pry  into  affairs  of  State. " 

He  smiled  rather  cynically.  "That  is  a  very 
wise  resolution,"  he  said.  "I  shall  tell  Bernard 
that  I  have  married  the  most  discreet  woman  in 
the  Empire — as  well  as  the  most  beautiful." 

"Did  you  marry  her  for  her  beauty  or  for  her 
discretion?"  asked  Stella. 

"Neither,"  he  said. 

"Are  you  sure?"  She  leaned  her  cheek  against 
his  shoulder.  "It's  no  good  pretending  with  me 
you  know,  I  can  see  through  anything,  detect  any 
disguise,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned." 

"Think  so?"  said  Monck. 

"Answer  my  question!"  she  said. 

"I  didn't  know  you  asked  one.  "  His  voice  was 
brusque ;  he  pushed  his  pipe  into  his  mouth  without 
looking  at  her. 

She  reached  up  and  daringly  removed  it.  "I 
asked  what  you  married  me  for, "  she  said.  "And 
you  suck  your  horrid  pipe  and  won't  even  look 
at  me." 

His  arm  went  round  her.  He  looked  down  into 
her  eyes  and  she  saw  the  fiery  worship  in  his 
own.  For  a  moment  its  intensity  almost  fright- 
ened her.  It  was  like  the  red  fire  of  a  volcano 
rushing  forth  upon  her — a  fierce,  unshackled  force. 
For  a  space  he  held  her  so,  gazing  at  her;  then 
suddenly  he  crushed  her  to  him,  he  kissed  her 
burningly  till  she  felt  as  if  caught  and  consumed 
by  the  flame. 


Evil  Tidings  223 

"My  God!"  he  said  passionately.  "Can  I  put 
— that — into  words?" 

She  clung  to  him,  but  she  was  trembling.  There 
was  that  about  him  at  the  moment  that  startled 
her.  She  was  in  the  presence  of  something  terrible, 
something  she  could  not  fathom.  There  was  more 
than  rapture  in  his  passion.  It  was  poignant  with 
a  fierce  defiance  that  challenged  all  the  world. 

She  lay  against  his  breast  in  silence  while  the 
storm  that  she  had  so  unwittingly  raised  spent 
itself.  Then  at  last  as  his  hold  began  to  slacken 
she  took  courage. 

She  laid  her  cheek  against  his  hand.  "Ah, 
don't  love  me  too  much  at  first,  darling, "  she  said. 
' '  Give  me  the  love  that  lasts ! ' ' 

"And  you  think  my  love  will  not  last?"  he  said, 
his  voice  low  and  very  deep. 

She  softly  kissed  the  hand  she  held.  "No,  I 
didn't  say — or  mean — that.  I  believe  it  is  the 
greatest  thing  that  I  shall  ever  possess.  But — 
shall  I  tell  you  a  secret  ?  There  is  something  in 
it  that  frightens  me — even  though  I  glory  in  it. " 

"My  dear!"  he  said. 

She  raised  her  lips  again  to  his.  "Yes,  I  know. 
That  is  foolish.  But  I  don't  know  you  yet,  re- 
member. I  have  never  yet  seen  you  angry  with 
me." 

"You  never  will, "  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  shall."  Her  eyes  were  gazing  into  his, 
but  they  saw  beyond.  "There  will  come  a  day 
when  something  will  come  between  us.  It  may  be 


224       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

only  a  small  thing,  but  it  will  not  seem  small  to  you. 
And  you  will  be  angry  because  I  do  not  see  with 
your  eyes.  And  I  think  the  very  greatness  of  your 
love  will  make  it  harder  for  us  both.  You  mustn't 
worship  me,  Everard.  I  am  only  human.  And 
you  will  be  so  bitterly  disappointed  afterwards 
when  you  discover  my  limitations. " 

"I  will  risk  that, "  he  said. 

"No.  I  don't  want  you  to  take  any  risks.  If 
you  set  up  an  idol,  and  it  falls,  you  may  be — I 
think  you  are — the  kind  of  man  to  be  ruined  by  it." 

She  spoke  very  earnestly,  but  his  faint  smile 
told  her  that  her  words  had  failed  to  convince. 

"Are  you  really  afraid  of  all  that?"  he  asked 
curiously. 

She  caught  her  breath.  "Yes,  I  am  afraid. 
I  don't  think  you  know  yourself,  your  strength,  or 
your  weakness.  You  haven't  the  least  idea  what 
you  would  say  or  do — or  even  feel — if  you  thought 
me  unkind  or  unjust  to  you." 

"I  should  probably  sulk,"  he  said. 

She  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  no!  You  would 
explode — sooner  or  later.  And  it  would  be  a  very 
violent  explosion.  I  wonder  if  you  have  ever  been 
really  furious  with  any  one  you  cared  about — with 
Tommy  for  instance." 

' '  I  have, ' '  said  Monck.  ' '  But  I  don't  fancy  you 
will  get  him  to  relate  his  experiences.  He  survived 
it  anyway. " 

"You  tell  me!"  she  said. 

He  hesitated.     "It's  rather  a  shame  to  give  the 


Evil  Tidings  225 

boy  away.  But  there  is  nothing  very  extraordi- 
nary in  it.  When  Tommy  first  came  out,  he  felt  the 
heat — like  lots  of  others.  He  was  thirsty,  and  he 
drank.  He  doesn't  do  it  now.  I  don't  mind 
wagering  that  he  never  will  again.  I  stopped 
him." 

"Everard,  how?"  Stella  was  looking  at  him 
with  the  keenest  interest. 

"Do  you  really  want  to  know  how?"  he  still 
spoke  with  slight  hesitation. 

' '  Of  course  I  do.  I  suppose  you  were  very  angry 
with  him?" 

"I  was — very  angry.  I  had  reason  to  be.  He 
fell  foul  of  me  one  night  at  the  Club.  It  doesn't 
matter  how  he  did  it.  He  wasn't  responsible  in 
any  case.  But  I  had  to  act  to  keep  him  out  of  hot 
water.  I  took  him  back  to  my  quarters.  Dacre 
was  away  that  night  and  I  had  him  to  myself.  I 
kept  my  temper  with  him  at  first — till  he  showed 
fight  and  tried  to  kick  me.  Then  I  let  him  have  it. 
I  gave  him  a  licking — such  a  licking  as  he  never  got 
at  school.  It  sobered  him  quite  effectually,  poor 
little  beggar."  An  odd  note  of  tenderness  crept 
through  the  grimness  of  Monck's  speech.  "But 
I  didn't  stop  then.  He  had  to  have  his  lesson  and 
he  had  it.  When  I  had  done  with  him,  there  was 
no  kick  left  in  him.  He  was  as  limp  as  a  wet  rag. 
But  he  was  quite  sober.  And  to  the  best  of  my 
belief  he  has  never  been  anything  else  from  that 
day  to  this.  Of  course  it  was  all  highly  irregular, 
but  it  saved  a  worse  row  in  the  end."  Monck's 


226       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

faint  smile  appeared.  "He  realized  that.  In 
fact  he  was  game  enough  to  thank  me  for  it  in 
the  morning,  and  apologized  like  a  gentleman  for 
giving  so  much  trouble. " 

"Oh,  I'm  glad  he  did  that!"  Stella  said,  with 
shining  eyes.  "And  that  was  the  beginning  of 
your  friendship?" 

"Well,  I  had  always  liked  him,"  Monck  ad- 
mitted. "But  he  didn't  like  me  for  a  long  time 
after.  That  thrashing  stuck  in  his  mind.  It  was 
a  pretty  stiff  one  certainly.  He  was  always  very 
polite  to  me,  but  he  avoided  me  like  the  plague.  I 
think  he  was  ashamed.  I  left  him  alone  till  one 
day  he  got  ill,  and  then  I  went  round  to  see  if  I 
could  do  anything.  He  was  pretty  bad,  and  I 
stayed  with  him.  We  got  friendly  afterwards. " 

"After  you  had  saved  his  life, "  Stella  said. 

Monck  laughed.  "That  sort  of  thing  doesn't 
count  in  India.  If  it  comes  to  that,  you  saved 
mine.  No,  we  came  to  an  understanding,  and 
we've  managed  to  hit  it  ever  since. " 

Stella  got  to  her  feet.  "Were  you  very  brutal 
to  him,  Everard?" 

He  reached  a  brown  hand  to  her  as  she  stood. 
"Of  course  I  was.  He  deserved  it  too.  If  a  man 
makes  a  beast  of  himself  he  need  never  look  for 
mercy  from  me." 

She  looked  at  him  dubiously.  ' '  And  if  a  woman 
makes  you  angry — "  she  said. 

He  got  to  his  feet  and  put  his  arm  about  her 
shoulders.  "But  I  don't  treat  women  like  that," 


Evil  Tidings  227 

he  said,  "not  even — my  wife.  I  have  quite 
another  sort  of  treatment  for  her.  It's  curious 
that  you  should  credit  me  with  such  a  vindictive 
temperament.  I  don't  know  what  I  have  done  to 
deserve  it. " 

She  leaned  her  head  against  him.  "My  dar- 
ling, forgive  me!  It  is  just  my  horrid,  suspicious 
nature." 

He  pressed  her  to  him.  "You  certainly  don't 
know  me  very  well  yet, "  he  said. 

They  went  back  to  the  bungalow  in  the  late 
afternoon,  walking  hand  in  hand  as  children, 
supremely  content. 

The  blue  jay  laughed  at  the  gate  as  they  entered, 
and  Monck  looked  up.  "Jeer  away,  you  son  of  a 
satyr!"  he  said.  "I  was  going  to  shoot  you,  but 
I've  changed  my  mind.  We're  all  friends  in  this 
compartment." 

Stella  squeezed  his  hand  hard.  "Everard,  I 
love  you  for  that!"  she  said  simply.  "Do  you 
think  we  could  make  friends  with  the  monkeys 
too?" 

"And  the  jackals  and  the  scorpions  and  the  dear 
little  karaits,  "  said  Monck.  "No  doubt  we  could 
if  we  lived  long  enough. " 

"Don't  laugh  at  me!"  she  protested.  "I  am 
quite  in  earnest.  There  are  plenty  of  things  to 
love  in  India." 

"There's  India  herself,"  said  Monck. 

She  looked  at  him  with  resolution  shining  in  her 
eyes.  "You  must  teach  me,"  she  said. 


228       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,  my  dear.  If  you 
don't  feel  the  lure  of  her,  then  you  are  not  one  of 
her  chosen  and  I  can  never  make  you  so.  She  is 
either  a  goddess  in  her  own  right  or  the  most  treach- 
erous old  she-devil  who  ever  sat  in  a  heathen  tem- 
ple. She  can  be  both.  To  love  her,  you  must  be 
prepared  to  take  her  either  way." 

They  went  up  into  the  bungalow.  Peter  the 
Great  glided  forward  like  a  magnificent  genie  and 
presented  a  scrap  of  paper  on  a  salver  to  Monck. 

He  took  it,  opened  it,  frowned  over  it. 

"The  messenger  arrived  three  hours  ago,  sahib. 
He  could  not  wait, "  murmured  Peter. 

Monck's  frown  deepened.  He  turned  to  Stella. 
"Go  and  have  tea,  dear,  and  then  rest!  Don't 
wait  for  me!  I  must  go  round  to  the  Club  and  get 
on  the  telephone  at  once. " 

The  grimness  of  his  face  startled  her.  "To 
Kurrumpore?"  she  asked  quickly.  "Is  there 
something  wrong  ? ' ' 

"Not  yet, "  he  said  curtly.  "Don't  you  worry! 
I  shall  be  back  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Let  me  come  too!"  she  said. 

He  shook  his  head.     ' '  No.  Go  and  rest ! ' ' 

He  was  gone  with  the  words,  striding  swiftly 
down  the  path.  As  he  passed  out  on  to  the  road, 
he  broke  into  a  run.  She  stood  and  listened  to  his 
receding  footsteps  with  foreboding  in  her  heart. 

"Tea  is  ready,  my  mem-sahib,"  said  Peter  softly 
behind  her. 

She  thanked  him  with  a  smile  and  went  in. 


Evil  Tidings  229 

He  followed  her  and  waited  upon  her  with  all  a 
woman's  solicitude. 

For  a  while  she  suffered  him  in  silence,  then 
suddenly,  "Peter,"  she  said,  "what  was  the 
messenger  like?" 

Peter  hesitated  momentarily.  Then,  "He  was 
old,  mem-sahib,"  he  said,  "old  and  ragged,  not 
worthy  of  your  august  consideration." 

She  turned  in  her  chair.  "Was  he — was  he 
anything  like — that — that  holy  man — Peter,  you 
know  who  I  mean  ? "  Her  face  was  deathly  as  she 
uttered  the  question. 

"Let  my  mem-sahib  be  comforted!"  said  Peter 
soothingly.  ' '  It  was  not  the  holy  man — the  bearer 
of  evil  tidings." 

"Ah!"  The  words  sank  down  through  her 
heart  like  a  stone  dropped  into  a  well.  "But  I 
think  the  tidings  were  evil  all  the  same.  Did  he 
say  what  it  was?  But — "  as  a  sudden  memory 
shot  across  her,  "I  ought  not  to  ask.  I  wish — I 
wish  the  captain — sahib  would  come  back." 

"Let  my  mem-sahib  have  patience!"  said  Peter 
gently.  "He  will  soon  come  now. " 

The  blue  jay  laughed  at  the  gate  gleefully, 
uproariously,  derisively.  Stella  shivered. 

"He  is  coming!"  said  Peter. 

She  started  up.  Monck  was  returning.  He 
came  up  the  compound  like  a  man  who  has  been 
beaten  in  a  race.  His  face  was  grey,  his  eyes 
terrible. 

Stella  went  swiftly  to  the  verandah-steps  to  meet 


230       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

him.  "Everard!  What  is  it?  Oh,  what  is  it?" 
she  said. 

He  took  her  arm,  turning  her  back.  "Have 
you  had  tea?"  he  said. 

His  voice  was  low,  but  absolutely  steady.  Its 
deadly  quietness  made  her  tremble. 

"I  haven't  finished,"  she  said.  "I  have  been 
waiting  for  you. " 

"You  needn't  have  done  that,"  he  said.  "I 
won't  have  any,  Peter,"  he  turned  on  the  waiting 
servant,  "get  me  some  brandy!" 

He  sat  down,  setting  her  free.  But  she  remained 
beside  him,  and  after  a  moment  laid  her  hand 
lightly  upon  his  shoulder,  without  words. 

He  reached  up  instantly,  caught  and  held  it  in  a 
grip  that  almost  made  her  wince.  "Stella,"  he 
said,  "it's  been  a  very  short  honeymoon,  but  I'm 
afraid  it's  over.  I've  got  to  get  back  at  once." 

"I  am  coming  with  you, "  she  said  quickly. 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  eyes  that  burned 
with  a  strange  intensity  but  he  did  not  speak  in 
answer. 

An  awful  dread  clutched  her.  She  knelt  swiftly 
down  beside  him.  "Everard,  listen!  I  don't  care 
what  has  happened  or  what  is  likely  to  happen. 
My  place  is  by  your  side — and  nowhere  else.  I 
am  coming  with  you.  Nothing  on  earth  shall 
prevent  me. " 

Her  words  were  quick  and  vehement,  her  whole 
being  pulsated.  She  challenged  his  look  with  eyes 
of  shining  resolution. 


Evil  Tidings  231 

His  arms  were  round  her  in  a  moment;  he  held 
her  fast.  ' '  My  Stella !  My  wife ! "  he  said. 

She  clung  closely  to  him.  "By  your  side,  I 
will  face  anything.  You  know  it,  darling.  I  am 
not  afraid." 

"I  know,  I  know, "  he  said.  "I  won't  leave  you 
behind.  I  couldn't  now.  But  a  time  will  come 
when  we  shall  have  to  separate.  We've  got  to  face 
that." 

"Wait  till  it  comes!"  she  whispered.  "It 
isn't — yet. " 

He  kissed  her  on  the  lips.  ' '  No,  not  yet,  thank 
heaven.  You  want  to  know  what  has  happened. 
I  will  tell  you.  Ermsted — you  know  Ermsted — 
was  shot  in  the  jungle  near  Khanmulla  this  after- 
noon, about  half  an  hour  ago. " 

1 '  Oh,  Everard ! ' '  She  started  back  in  horror  and 
was  struck  afresh  by  the  awful  intentness  of  his 
eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "And  if  I  had  been  here  to 
receive  that  message,  I  could  have  prevented  it." 

"Oh,  Everard!"  she  said  again. 

He  went  on  doggedly.  "I  ought  to  have  been 
here.  My  agent  knew  I  was  in  the  place.  I  ought 
to  have  stayed  within  reach.  These  warnings 
might  arrive  at  any  time.  I  was  a  damned  lunatic, 
and  Ermsted  has  paid  the  price. ' '  He  stopped,  and 
his  look  changed.  ' '  Poor  girl !  It's  been  a  shock  to 
you,  "  he  said,  "a  beastly  awakening  for  us  both.  " 

Stella  was  very  pale.  "I  feel, "  she  said  slowly, 
"as  if  I  were  pursued  by  a  remorseless  fate. " 


232       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"You?"  he  questioned.  "This  had  nothing  to 
do  with  you." 

She  leaned  against  him.  "Wherever  I  go, 
trouble  follows.  Haven't  you  noticed  it?  It 
seems  as  if — as  if — whichever  way  I  turn — a  flam- 
ing sword  is  stretched  out,  barring  the  way. "  Her 
voice  suddenly  quivered.  ' '  I  know  why, — oh,  yes, 
I  know  why.  It  is  because  once — like  the  man 
without  a  wedding-garment,  I  found  my  way  into  a 
forbidden  paradise.  They  hurled  me  out,  Everard. 
I  was  flung  into  a  desert  of  ashes.  And  now — now 
that  I  have  dared  to  approach  by  another  way — 
the  sentence  has  gone  forth  that  wherever  I  pass, 
something  shall  die.  That  dreadful  man — told 
me  on  the  day  that  Ralph  was  taken  away  from 
me — that  the  Holy  Ones  were  angry.  And — my 
dear — he  was  right.  I  shall  never  be  pardoned 
until  I  have — somehow — expiated  my  sin." 

"Stella!  Stella!"  He  broke  in  upon  her  sharply. 
"You  are  talking  wildly.  Your  sin,  as  you  call 
it,  was  at  the  most  no  more  than  a  bad  mis- 
take. Can't  you  put  it  from  you? — get  above 
it?  Have  you  no  faith?  I  thought  all  women 
had  that." 

She  looked  at  him  strangely.  ' '  I  wasn't  brought 
up  to  believe  in  God,"  she  said.  "At  least  not 
personally,  not  intimately.  Were  you?" 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"Ah!"  Her  eyes  widened  a  little.  "And  you 
still  believe  in  Him — still  believe  He  really  cares 
— even  when  things  go  hopelessly  wrong?" 


Evil  Tidings  233 

4 '  Yes, ' '  he  said  again.  ' '  I  can't  talk  about  Him. 
But  I  know  He's  there. " 

She  still  regarded  him  with  wonder.  "Oh,  my 
dear,"  she  said  finally,  "are  you  behind  me,  or  a 
very,  very  long  way  in  front?" 

He  smiled  faintly,  grimly.  "Probably  a  thou- 
sand miles  behind,"  he  said.  "But  I  have  been 
given  long  sight,  that's  all. " 

She  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  sigh.  "And  I, "  she 
said  very  sadly,  "am  blind. " 

Down  by  the  gate  the  blue  jay  laughed  again, 
laughed  and  flew  away. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   BEAST   OF   PREY 

IN  a  darkened  room  Netta  Ermsted  lay,  trem- 
bling and  unnerved.  As  usual  in  cases  of  adversity, 
Mrs.  Ralston  had  taken  charge  of  her;  but  there 
was  very  little  that  she  could  do.  It  was  more  a 
matter  for  her  husband's  skill  than  for  hers,  and 
he  could  only  prescribe  absolute  quiet.  For  Netta 
was  utterly  broken.  Since  the  fatal  moment 
when  she  had  returned  from  a  call  in  her  'rickshaw 
to  find  Major  Burton  awaiting  her  with  the  news 
that  Ermsted  had  been  shot  on  the  jungle-road 
while  riding  home  from  Khanmulla,  she  had  been 
as  one  distraught.  They  had  restrained  her  al- 
most forcibly  from  rushing  forth  to  fling  herself 
upon  his  dead  body,  and  now  that  it  was  all  over, 
now  that  the  man  who  had  loved  her  and  whom 
she  had  never  loved  was  in  his  grave,  she  lay  pro- 
strate, refusing  all  comfort. 

Tessa,  wide-eyed  and  speculative,  was  in  the 
care  of  Mrs.  Burton,  alternately  quarrelling  vigor- 
ously with  little  Cedric  Burton  whose  intellectual 
leanings  provoked  her  most  ardent  contempt,  and 
teasing  the  luckless  Scooter  out  of  sheer  boredom 
234 


The  Beast  of  Prey  235 

till  all  the  animal's  ideas  in  life  centred  in  a  de- 
sperate desire  to  escape. 

It  was  Tessa  to  whom  Stella's  pitying  attention 
was  first  drawn  on  the  day  after  her  return  to  The 
Green  Bungalow.  Tommy,  finding  her  raging  in 
the  road  like  a  little  tiger-cat  over  some  small 
contretemps  with  Mrs.  Burton,  had  lifted  her  on  to 
his. shoulders  and  brought  her  back  with  him. 

"Be  good  to  the  poor  imp!"  he  muttered  to  his 
sister.  ' '  Nobody  wants  her. ' ' 

Certainly  Mrs.  Burton  did  not.  She  passed  her 
on  to  Stella  with  her  two-edged  smile,  and  Tessa 
and  Scooter  forthwith  cheerfully  took  up  their 
abode  at  The  Green  Bungalow  with  whole-hearted 
satisfaction. 

Stella  experienced  little  difficulty  in  dealing  with 
the  child.  She  found  herself  the  object  of  the  most 
passionate  admiration  which  went  far  towards 
simplifying  the  problem  of  managing  her.  Tessa 
adored  her  and  followed  her  like  her  shadow  when- 
ever she  was  not  similarly  engrossed  with  her 
beloved  Tommy.  Of  Monck  she  stood  in  consider- 
able awe.  He  did  not  take  much  notice  of  her.  It 
seemed  to  Stella  that  he  had  retired  very  deeply  in- 
to his  shell  of  reserve  during  those  days.  Even 
with  herself  he  was  reticent,  monosyllabic,  ob- 
viously absorbed  in  matters  of  which  she  had  no 
knowledge. 

But  for  her  small  worshipper  she  would  have 
been  both  lonely  and  anxious.  For  he  was  often 
absent,  sometimes  for  hours  at  a  stretch  wholly 


236       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

without  warning,  giving  no  explanation  upon  his 
return.  She  asked  no  questions.  She  schooled 
herself  to  patience.  She  tried  to  be  content  with 
the  close  holding  of  his  arms  when  they  were 
together  and  the  certainty  that  all  the  desire  of  his 
heart  was  for  her  alone.  But  she  could  not  wholly 
drive  away  the  conviction  that  at  the  very  gates 
of  her  paradise  the  sword  she  dreaded  had  been 
turned  against  her.  They  were  back  in  the  desert 
again,  and  the  way  to  the  tree  of  life  was  barred. 

Perhaps  it  was  natural  that  she  should  turn  to 
Tessa  for  consolation  and  distraction.  The  child 
was  original  in  all  her  ways.  Her  ideas  of  death 
were  wholly  devoid  of  tragedy,  and  she  was  too 
accustomed  to  her  father's  absence  to  feel  any 
actual  sense  of  loss. 

"Do  you  think  Daddy  likes  Heaven?"  she  said 
to  Stella  one  day.  ' '  I  hope  Mother  will  be  quick 
and  go  there  too.  It  would  be  better  for  her 
than  staying  behind  with  the  Rajah.  I  always 
call  him  'the  slithy  tove.'  He  is  so  narrow  and 
wriggly.  He  wanted  me  to  kiss  him  once,  but  I 
wouldn't.  He  looked  so — so  mischievous."  Tessa 
tossed  her  golden-brown  head.  "Besides,  I  only 
kiss  white  men." 

"Hear,  hear!"  said  Tommy,  who  was  cleaning 
his  pipe  on  the  verandah.  "You  stick  to  that,  my 
child!" 

"Mother  said  I  was  very  silly,"  said  Tessa. 
"She  was  quite  cross.  But  the  Rajah  only 
laughed  in  that  nasty,  slippy  way  he  has  and  took 


The  Beast  of  Prey  237 

her  cigarette  away  and  smoked  it  himself.  I  hated 
him  for  that, "  ended  Tessa  with  a  little  gleam  of 
the  tiger-cat  in  her  blue  eyes.  "It — it  was  a 
liberty." 

Tommy's  guffaw  sounded  from  the  verandah. 
It  went  into  a  greeting  of  Monck  who  came  up 
unexpectedly  at  the  moment  and  sat  down  on  a 
wicker-chair  to  examine  a  handful  of  papers. 
Stella,  working  within  the  room,  looked  up  swiftly 
at  his  coming,  but  if  he  had  so  much  as  glanced 
in  her  direction  he  was  fully  engrossed  with  the 
matter  in  hand  ere  she  had  time  to  observe  it. 
He  had  been  out  since  early  morning  and  she  had 
not  seen  him  for  several  hours. 

Tessa,  who  possessed  at  times  an  almost  un- 
canny shrewdness,  left  her  and  went  to  stand  on 
one  leg  in  the  doorway.  "Most  people,"  she 
observed,  "say  'Hullo!'  to  their  wives  when  they 
come  in." 

"Very  intelligent  of  "em,"  said  Tommy.  "Do 
you  think  the  Rajah  does?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Tessa  seriously.  "I  went 
to  the  palace  at  Bhulwana  once  to  see  them.  But 
the  Rajah  wasn't  there.  They  were  very  kind, " 
she  added  dispassionately,  "but  rather  silly.  I 
don't  wonder  the  Rajah  likes  white  men's  wives 
best." 

"Oh,  quite  natural,"  agreed  Tommy. 

"He  gave  Mother  a  beautiful  ring  with  a  dia- 
mond in  it,"  went  on  Tessa,  delighted  to  have 
secured  his  attention  and  watching  furtively  for 


238       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

some  sign  of  interest  from  Monck  also.  "It  was 
worth  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  pounds.  That 
was  the  last  thing  Daddy  was  cross  about.  He 
was  cross." 

"Why?"  asked  Tommy. 

"'Cos  he  was  jealous,  I  expect,"  said  Tessa 
wisely.  "I  thought  he  was  going  to  give  her  a 
whipping.  And  I  hid  in  his  dressing-room  to  see. 
Mother  was  awful  frightened.  She  went  down  on 
her  knees  to  him.  And  he  was  just  going  to  do  it. 
I  know  he  was.  And  then  he  came  into  the  dress- 
ing-room and  found  me.  And  so  he  whipped  me 
instead."  Tessa  ended  on  a  note  of  resentment. 

"Served  you  jolly  well  right,"  said  Tommy. 

"No,  it  didn't,"  said  Tessa.  "He  only  did  it 
'cos  Mother  had  made  him  angry.  It  wasn't  a 
child's  whipping  at  all.  It  was  a  grown-up's 
whipping.  And  he  used  a  switch.  And  it  hurt — 
worse  than  anything  ever  hurt  before.  That's 
why  I  didn't  mind  when  he  went  to  Heaven  the 
other  day.  I  hope  I  shan't  go  there  for  a  long 
time  yet.  It  isn't  nice  to  be  whipped  like  that. 
And  I  wasn't  going  to  say  I  was  sorry  either.  I 
knew  that  would  make  him  crosser  than  any- 
thing." 

"Poor  chap!"  said  Tommy  suddenly. 

Tessa  came  a  step  nearer  to  him.  "Ayah  says 
the  man  who  did  it  will  be  hanged  if  they  catch 
him, "  she  said.  "  If  it  is  the  Rajah,  will  you  man- 
age so  as  I  can  go  and  see?  I  should  like  to." 

4 '  Tessa ! ' '  exclaimed  Stella. 


The  Beast  of  Prey  239 

Tessa  turned  flushed  cheeks  and  shining  eyes 
upon  her.  "I  would!"  she  declared  stoutly.  "I 
would!  There's  nothing  wrong  in  that.1  He's  a 
horrid  man.  It  isn't  wrong,  is  it,  Captain  Monck? 
But  if  he  shot  my  Daddy?"  She  went  swiftly  to 
Monck  with  the  words  and  leaned  ingratiatingly 
against  him.  "You'd  kill  a  man  yourself  that  did 
a  thing  like  that,  wouldn't  you?" 

"Very  likely,"  said  Monck. 

She  gazed  at  him  admiringly.  "I  expect  you've 
killed  lots  and  lots  of  men,  haven't  you?"  she 
said. 

He  smiled  with  a  touch  of  grimness.  "Do  you 
think  I'm  going  to  tell  a  scaramouch  like  you?"  he 
said. 

"Everard!"  Stella  rose  and  came  to  the  win- 
dow. "Do — please — make  her  understand  that 
people  don't  murder  each  other  just  whenever 
they  feel  like  it — even  in  India!" 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers,  and  an  odd  sense  of 
shock  went  through  her.  It  was  as  if  in  some  fash- 
ion he  had  deliberately  made  her  aware  of  that 
secret  chamber  which  she  might  not  enter.  "I 
think  you  would  probably  be  more  convincing  on 
that  point  than  I  should,"  he  said. 

She  gave  a  little  shudder ;  she  could  not  restrain 
it.  That  look  in  his  eyes  reminded  her  of  some- 
thing, something  dreadful.  What  was  it?  Ah 
yes,  she  remembered  now.  He  had  had  that  look 
on  that  night  of  terror  when  he  had  first  called  her 
his  wife,  when  he  had  barred  the  window  behind  her 


240       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

and  sworn  to  slay  any  man  who  should  come 
between  them. 

She  turned  aside  and  went  in  without  another 
word.  India  again!  India  the  savage,  the  im- 
placable, the  ruthless!  She  felt  as  a  prisoner 
who  battered  fruitlessly  against  an  iron  door. 

Tessa's  inquisitive  eyes  followed  her.  "She's 
going  to  cry,"  she  said  to  Monck. 

Tommy  turned  sharply  upon  his  friend  with 
accusation  in  his  glance,  but  the  next  instant  he 
summoned  Tessa  as  if  she  had  been  a  terrier 
and  walked  off  into  the  compound  with  the  child 
capering  at  his  side. 

Monck  sat  for  a  moment  or  two  looking  straight 
before  him ;  then  he  packed  together  the  papers  in 
his  hand  and  stepped  through  the  open  window 
into  the  room  behind.  It  was  empty. 

He  went  through  it  without  a  pause,  and  turned 
along  the  passage  to  the  door  of  his  wife's  room. 
It  stood  half-open.  He  pushed  it  wider  and 
entered. 

She  was  standing  by  her  dressing-table,  but  she 
turned  at  his  coming,  turned  and  faced  him. 

He  came  straight  to  her  and  took  her  by  the 
shoulders.  ' '  What  is  the  matter  ? "  he  said. 

She  met  his  direct  look,  but  there  was  shrink- 
ing in  her  eyes.  "Everard,"  she  said,  "there  are 
times  when  you  make  me  afraid." 

"Why?"  he  said. 

She  could  not  put  it  into  words.  She  made  a 
piteous  gesture  with  her  clasped  hands. 


The  Beast  of  Prey  241 

His  expression  changed,  subtly  softening.  "I 
can't  always  wear  kid  gloves,  my  Stella,"  he  said. 
"When  there  is  rough  work  to  be  done,  we  have  to 
strip  to  the  waist  sometimes  to  get  to  it.  It's  the 
only  way  to  get  a  sane  grip  on  things." 

Her  lips  were  quivering.  "But  you — you  like 
it!"  she  said. 

He  smiled  a  little.  ' '  I  plead  guilty  to  a  sporting 
instinct, "  he  said. 

"You  hunt  down  murderers — and  call  it — 
sport!"  she  said  slowly. 

"No,  I  call  it  justice."  He  still  spoke  gently 
though  his  face  had  hardened  again.  "That  child 
has  a  sense  of  justice,  quite  elementary,  but  a  true 
one.  If  I  could  get  hold  of  the  man  who  killed 
Ermsted,  I  would  cheerfully  kill  him  with  my  own 
hand — unless  I  could  be  sure  that  he  would  get  his 
deserts  from  the  Government  who  are  apt  to  be 
somewhat  slack  in  such  matters. " 

Stella  shivered  again.  "Do  you  know,  Ever- 
ard,  I  can't  bear  to  hear  you  talk  like  that?  It  is 
the  untamed,  savage  part  of  you." 

He  drew  her  to  him.  "Yes,  the  soldier  part 
I  know.  I  know  quite  well.  But  my  dear,  do  me 
the  justice  at  least  to  believe  that  I  am  on  the  side 
of  right!  I  can't  do  other  than  talk  generalities 
to  you.  You  simply  wouldn't  understand.  But 
there  are  some  criminals  who  can  only  be  beaten 
with  their  own  weapons,  remember  that.  Nichol- 
son knew  that — and  applied  it.  I  follow — or  try 
to  follow — in  Nicholson's  steps. " 


242       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  clung  to  him  suddenly  and  closely.  "Oh, 
don't — don't!  This  is  another  age.  We  have 
advanced  since  then." 

"Have  we?"  he  said  sombrely.  "And  do  you 
think  the  India  of  to-day  can  be  governed  by  weak- 
ness any  more  successfully  than  the  India  of 
Nicholson's  time  ?  You  have  no  idea  what  you  say 
when  you  talk  like  that.  Ermsted  is  not  the  first 
Englishman  to  be  killed  in  this  State.  The  Rajah 
of  Markestan  is  too  wily  a  beast  to  go  for  the  large 
game  at  the  outset,  though — probably — the  large 
game  is  the  only  stuff  he  cares  about.  He  knows 
too  well  that  there  are  eyes  that  watch  perpetually, 
and  he  won't  expose  himself — if  he  can  help  it. 
The  trouble  is  he  doesn't  always  know  where  to 
look  for  the  eyes  that  watch." 

A  certain  exultation  sounded  in  his  voice,  but 
the  next  instant' he  bent  and  kissed  her. 

"Why  do  you  dwell  on  these  things?  They 
only  trouble  you.  But  I  think  you  might  remem- 
ber that  since  they  exist,  someone  has  to  deal  with 
them." 

"You  don't  trust  Ahmed  Khan?"  she  said. 
"You  think  he  is  treacherous?" 

He  hesitated;  then:  "Ahmed  Khan  is  either  a 
tiger  or — merely  a  jackal,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
know  which  at  present.  I  am  taking  his  measure. ' ' 

She  still  held  him  closely.  "Everard, "  her 
voice  came  low  and  breathless,  "you  think  he  was 
responsible  for  Captain  Ermsted's  death.  May  he 
not  have  been  also  for — for ' ' 


The  Beast  of  Prey  243 

He  checked  her  sharply  before  Ralph  Dacre's 
name  could  leave  her  lips.  "No.  Put  that  out 
of  your  mind  for  good!  You  have  no  reason  to 
suspect  foul  play  where  he  was  concerned." 

He  spoke  with  such  decision  that  she  looked  at 
him  in  surprise.  "I  often  have  suspected  it," 
she  said. 

"I  know.  But  you  have  no  reason  for  doing  so. 
I  should  try  to  forget  it  if  I  were  you.  Let  the 
past  be  past!" 

It  was  evident  that  he  would  not  discuss  the 
matter,  and,  wondering  somewhat,  she  let  it  pass. 
The  bare  mention  of  Dacre  seemed  to  be  unendur- 
able to  him.  But  the  suspicion  which  his  words 
had  started  remained  in  her  mind,  for  it  was 
beyond  her  power  to  dismiss  it.  The  conviction 
that  he  had  met  his  death  by  foul  means  was 
steadily  gaining  ground  within  her,  winding  ser- 
pent-like ever  more  closely  about  her  shrinking 
heart. 

Monck  went  his  way,  whether  deeply  disap- 
pointed or  not  she  knew  not.  But  she  realized  that 
he  would  not  reopen  the  subject.  He  had  made 
his  explanation,  but — and  for  this  she  honoured 
him — he  would  not  seek  to  convince  her  against  her 
will.  It  was  even  possible  that  he  preferred  her  to 
keep  her  own  judgment  in  the  matter. 

They  dined  at  the  Mansfi elds'  bungalow  that 
night,  a  festivity  for  which  she  felt  small  relish, 
more  especially  as  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Ralston 
would  not  be  present.  To  be  received  with  icy 


244       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

ceremony  by  Lady  Harriet  and  sent  in  to  dinner 
with  Major  Burton  was  a  state  of  affairs  that  must 
have  dashed  the  highest  spirits.  She  tried  to 
make  the  best  of  it,  but  it  was  impossible  to 
be  entirely  unaffected  by  the  depressing  chill  of 
the  atmosphere.  Conversation  turned  upon  Mrs. 
Ermsted,  regarding  whom  the  report  had  gone 
forth  that  she  was  very  seriously  ill.  Lady  Har- 
riet sought  to  probe  Stella  upon  the  subject  and 
was  plainly  offended  when  she  pleaded  ignorance. 
She  also  tried  to  extract  Monck's  opinion  of  poor 
Captain  Ermsted's  murder.  Had  it  been  com- 
mitted by  a  mere  budmash  for  the  sake  of  robbery, 
or  did  he  consider  that  any  political  significance 
was  attached  to  it?  Monck  drily  expressed  the 
opinion  that  something  might  be  said  for  either 
theory.  But  when  Lady  Harriet  threw  discretion 
to  the  winds  and  desired  to  know  if  it  were  gener- 
ally believed  in  official  circles  that  the  Rajah  was 
implicated,  he  raised  his  brows  in  stern  surprise 
and  replied  that  so  far  as  his  information  went  the 
Rajah  was  a  loyal  servant  of  the  Crown. 

Lady  Harriet  was  snubbed,  and  she  felt  the 
effects  of  it  for  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Walking 
home  with  her  husband  through  the  starlight  later, 
Stella  laughed  a  little  over  the  episode;  but  Monck 
was  not  responsive.  He  seemed  engrossed  in 
thought. 

He  went  with  her  to  her  room,  and  there  bada 
her  good-night,  observing  that  he  had  work  to  do 
and  might  be  late. 


The  Beast  of  Prey  245 

"It  is  already  late,"  she  said.  "Don't  be  long! 
I  shall  only  lie  awake  till  you  come." 

He  frowned  at  her.  "I  shall  be  very  angry  if 
you  do." 

"I  can't  help  that,"  she  said.  "I  can't  sleep 
properly  till  you  come." 

He  looked  her  in  the  eyes.  "You're  not 
nervous  ?  You ' ve  got  Peter. ' ' 

' '  Oh,  I  am  not  in  the  least  nervous  on  my  own 
account,"  she  told  him. 

"You  needn't  be  on  mine,"  he  said. 

She  laughed,  but  her  lips  were  piteous.  "Well, 
don't  be  long  anyway!"  she  pleaded.  "Don't 
forget  I  am  waiting  for  you!"  -^niki 

"Forget!"  he  said.  For  an  instant  his  hold 
upon  her  was  passionate.  He  kissed  her  fiercely, 
blindly,  even  violently;  then  with  a  muttered  word 
of  inarticulate  apology  he  let  her  go. 

She  heard  him  stride  away  down  the  passage, 
and  in  a  few  moments  Peter  came  and  very  softly 
closed  the  door.  She  knew  that  he  was  there  on 
guard  until  his  master  should  return. 

She  sat  down  with  a  beating  heart  and  leaned 
back  with  closed  eyes.  A  heavy  sense  of  fore- 
boding oppressed  her.  She  was  very  tired,  but  yet 
she  knew  that  sleep  was  far  away.  Just  as  once 
she  had  felt  a  dread  that  was  physical  on  behalf 
of  Ralph  Dacre,  so  now  she  felt  weighed  down  by 
suspense  and  loneliness.  Only  now  it  was  a  thou- 
sand times  magnified,  for  this  man  was  her  world. 
She  tried  to  picture  to  herself  what  it  would  have 


246       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

meant  to  her  had  that  shot  in  the  jungle  slain 
him  instead  of  Captain  Ennsted.  But  the  bare 
thought  was  beyond  endurance.  Once  she  could 
have  borne  it,  but  not  now — not  now !  Once  she 
could  have  denied  her  love  and  fared  forth  alone 
into  the  desert.  But  he  had  captured  her,  and  now 
she  was  irrevocably  his.  Her  spirit  pined  almost 
unconsciously  whenever  he  was  absent  from  her. 
Her  body  knew  no  rest  without  him.  From  the 
moment  of  his  leaving  her,  she  was  ever  secretly 
on  fire  for  his  return. 

Had'  they  been  in  England  she  knew  that  it 
would  have  been  otherwise.  In  a  calm  and  tem- 
perate atmosphere  she  could  have  attained  a 
serene,  unruffled  happiness.  But  India,  fevered 
and  pitiless,  held  her  in  scorching  grip.  She 
dwelt  as  it  were  on  the  edge  of  a  roaring  furnace 
that  consumed  some  victims  every  day.  Her  life 
was  strung  up  to  a  pitch  that  frightened  her.  The 
very  intensity  of  the  love  that  Everard  Monck 
had  practically  forced  into  being  within  her  was 
almost  more  than  she  could  bear.  It  hurt  her  like 
the  searing  of  a  flame,  and  yet  in  the  hurt  there 
was  rapture.  For  the  icy  blast  of  the  desert  could 
never  reach  her  now.  Unless — unless — ah,  was 
there  not  a  flaming  sword  still  threatening  her 
wherever  she  pitched  her  camp?  Surround  her- 
self as  she  would  with  the  magic  essences  of  love, 
did  not  the  vengeance  await  her — even  now — even 
now  ?  Could  she  ever  count  herself  safe  so  long  as 
she  remained  in  this  land  of  treachery  and  terrible 


The  Beast  of  Prey  247 

vengeance?  Could  there  ever  be  any  peace  so 
near  to  the  burning  fiery  furnace? 

Slowly  the  night  wore  on.  The  air  blew  in  cool 
and  pure  with  a  soft  whispering  of  spring  and  the 
brief  splendour  of  the  rose-time.  The  howl  of  a 
prowling  jackal  came  now  and  then  to  her  ears, 
making  her  shiver  with  the  memory  of  Monck's 
words.  Away  in  the  jungle  the  owls  were  calling 
upon  notes  that  sounded  like  weird  cries  for  help. 

Once  or  twice  she  heard  a  shuffling  movement 
outside  the  door  and  knew  that  Peter  was  still  on 
guard.  She  wondered  if  he  ever  slept.  She  won- 
dered if  Tommy  had  returned.  He  often  dropped 
into  the  Club  on  his  way  back,  and  sometimes 
stayed  late.  Then,  realizing  how  late  it  was,  she 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  must  have  dozed 
in  her  chair. 

She  got  up  with  a  sense  of  being  weighted  in 
every  limb,  and  began  to  undress.  Everard  would 
be  vexed  if  he  returned  and  found  her  still  up. 
Not  that  she  expected  him  to  return  for  a  long 
time.  His  absence  lasted  sometimes  till  the  night 
was  nearly  over. 

She  never  questioned  him  regarding  it,  and  he 
never  told  her  anything.  Dacre's  revelation  on 
that  night  so  long  ago  had  never  left  her  memory. 
He  was  engaged  upon  secret  affairs.  Possibly  he 
was  down  in  the  native  quarter,  disguised  as  a 
native,  carrying  his  life  in  his  hand.  He  had  a 
friend  in  the  bazaar,  she  knew;  a  man  she  had 
never  seen,  but  whose  shop  he  had  once  pointed 


248       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

out  to  her  though  he  would  not  suffer  her — and 
indeed  she  had  no  desire — to  enter.  This  man — 
Rustam  Karin — was  a  dealer  in  native  charms 
and  trinkets.  The  business  was  mainly  conducted 
by  a  youth  of  obsequious  and  insincere  demeanour 
called  Hafiz.  The  latter  she  knew  and  instinc- 
tively disliked,  but  her  feeling  for  the  unknown  mas- 
ter was  one  of  more  active  aversion.  In  the  depths 
of  that  dark  native  stall  she  pictured  him,  a 
watcher,  furtive  and  avaricious,  a  man  who  lent 
himself  and  his  shrewd  and  covetous  brain  to  a 
Government  he  probably  despised  as  alien. 

Tommy  had  once  described  the  man  to  her  and 
her  conception  of  him  was  a  perfectly  clear  one. 
He  was  black-bearded  and  an  opium-smoker,  and 
she  hated  to  think  of  Everard  as  in  any  sense  allied 
with  him.  Dark,  treacherous,  and  terrible,  he 
loomed  in  her  imagination.  He  represented  India 
and  all  her  subtleties.  He  was  a  serpent  under- 
foot, a  knife  in  the  dark,  an  evil  dream. 

She  could  not  have  said  why  the  personality  of  a 
man  she  did  not  know  so  affected  her,  save  that  she 
believed  that  all  Monck's  secret  expeditions  were 
conceived  in  the  gloom  of  that  stall  she  had  never 
entered  in  the  heart  of  the  native  bazaar.  The 
man  was  in  Monck's  confidence.  Perhaps,  being 
a  woman,  that  hurt  her  also.  For  though  she 
recognized — as  in  the  case  of  that  native  lair  down 
in  the  bazaar — that  it  were  better  never  to  set  foot 
in  that  secret  chamber,  yet  she  resented  the 
thought  that  any  other  should  have  free  access  to 


The  Beast  of  Prey  249 

it.  She  was  beginning  to  regard  that  part  of 
Monck's  life  with  a  dread  that  verged  upon  horror 
— a  feeling  which  her  very  love  for  the  man  but 
served  to  intensify.  She  was  as  one  clinging  de- 
sperately to  a  treasure  which  might  at  any  moment 
be  wrested  from  her. 

Stiffly  and  wearily  she  undressed.  Tommy 
must  surely  have  returned  ages  ago,  though  prob- 
ably late,  or  he  would  have  come  to  bid  her  good- 
night. Why  did  not  Everard  return  ? 

At  the  last  she  extinguished  her  light  and  went 
to  the  window  to  gaze  wistfully  out  across  the  ve- 
randah. That  secret  whispering — the  stirring  of 
a  thousand  unseen  things— was  abroad  in  the  night. 
The  air  was  soft  and  scented  with  a  fragrance 
intangible  but  wholly  sweet.  India,  stretched  out 
beneath  the  glittering  stars,  stirred  with  half- 
opened  eyes,  and  smiled.  Stella  thought  she 
heard  the  flutter  of  her  robe. 

Then  again  the  mystery  of  the  night  was  rent 
by  the  cry  of  some  beast  of  prey,  and  in  a  second 
the  magic  was  gone.  The  shadows  were  full  of 
evil.  She  drew  back  with  swift,  involuntary 
shrinking ;  and  as  she  did  so,  she  heard  the  dread- 
ful answering  cry  of  the  prey  that  had  been  seized. 

India  again!  India  the  ruthless!  India  the 
bloodthirsty!  India  the  vampire! 

For  a  few  palpitating  moments  she  leaned 
against  the  wall  feeling  physically  sick.  And  as 
she  leaned,  there  passed  before  her  inner  vision 
the  memory  of  that  figure  which  she  had  seen  upon 


250       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

the  verandah  on  that  terrible  night  when  Everard 
had  been  stricken  with  fever.  The  look  in  her 
husband's  eyes  that  day  had  brought  it  back  to  her, 
and  now  like  a  flashlight  it  leapt  from  point  to 
point  of  her  brain,  revealing,  illuminating. 

That  figure  on  the  verandah  and  the  unknown 
man  of  the  bazaar  were  one.  It  was  Rustam  Karin 
whom  she  had  seen  that  night — Rustam  Karin, 
Everard's  trusted  friend  and  ally — the  Rajah's 
tool  also  though  Everard  would  never  have  it  so — 
and  (she  was  certain  of  it  now  with  that  certainty 
which  is  somehow  all  the  greater  because  without 
proof)  this  was  the  man  who  had  followed  Ralph 
Dacre  to  Kashmir  and  lured  him  to  his  death. 
This  was  the  beast  of  prey  who  when  the  time  was 
ripe  would  destroy  Everard  Monck  also. 


/>  rt       flS  ,V»1<] 

Jo  Ilu)  -JTJW  tffrQb&ii* 
vr»f  ntrlovni    , 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  FLAMING  SWORD 

THE  conviction  which  came  upon  Stella  on  that 
night  of  chequered  starlight  was  one  which  no 
amount  of  sane  reasoning  could  shake.  She  made 
no  attempt  to  reopen  the  subject  with  Everard, 
recognizing  fully  the  futility  of  such  a  course;  for 
she  had  no  shadow  of  proof  to  support  it.  But  it 
hung  upon  her  like  a  heavy  chain.  She  took  it 
with  her  wherever  she  went. 

More  than  once  she  contemplated  taking; 
Tommy  into  her  confidence.  But  again  that  lack 
of  proof  deterred  her.  She  was  certain  that 
Tommy  would  give  no  credence  to  her  theory. 
And  his  faith  in  Monck — his  wariness,  his  discre- 
tion— was  unbounded. 

She  did  question  Peter  with  regard  to  Rustam 
Karin,  but  she  elicited  scant  satisfaction  from  him. 
Peter  went  but  little  to  the  native  bazaar,  and  like 
herself  had  never  seen  the  man.  He  appeared  so 
seldom  and  then  only  by  night.  There  was  a 
rumour  that  he  was  leprous.  This  was  all  that 

Peter  knew. 

- 

And  so  it  seemed  useless  to  pursue  the  matter. 


252       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  could  only  wait  and  watch.  Some  day  the 
man  might  emerge  from  his  lair,  and  she  would  be 
able  to  identify  him  beyond  all  dispute.  Peter 
could  help  her  then.  But  till  then  there  was 
nothing  that  she  could  do.  She  was  quite  helpless. 

So,  with  that  shrinking  still  strongly  upon  her 
that  made  all  mention  of  Ralph  Dacre's  death  so 
difficult,  she  buried  the  matter  deep  in  her  own  heart, 
determined  only  that  she  also  would  watch  with  a 
vigilance  that  never  slackened  until  the  proof  for 
which  she  waited  should  be  hers. 

The  weeks  had  begun  to  slip  by  with  incredible 
swiftness.  The  tragedy  of  Ermsted's  death  had 
ceased  to  be  the  talk  of  the  station.  Tessa  had 
gone  back  to  her  mother  who  still  remained  a 
semi-invalid  in  the  Ralstons'  hospitable  care. 
Netta's  plans  seemed  to  be  of  the  vaguest;  but 
Home  leave  was  due  to  Major  Ralston  the  follow- 
ing year,  and  it  seemed  likely  that  she  would  drift 
on  till  then  and  return  in  their  company. 

Stella  did  not  see  very  much  of  her  friend  in 
those  days,  Netta,  exacting  and  peevish,  mono- 
polized much  of  the  latter's  time  and  kept  her 
effectually  at  a  distance.  The  days  were  growing 
hotter  moreover,  and  her  energies  flagged,  though 
all  her  strength  was  concentrated  upon  concealing 
the  fact  from  Everard.  For  already  the  annual 
exodus  to  Bhulwana  was  being  discussed,  and  only 
the  possibility  that  the  battalion  might  be  moved 
to  a  healthier  spot  for  the  summer  had  deferred  it 
for  so  long. 


The  Flaming  Sword  253 

Stella  clung  to  this  possibility  with  a  hope  that 
was  passionate  in  its  intensity.  She  had  a  morbid 
dread  of  separation,  albeit  the  danger  she  feared 
seemed  to  have  sunk  into  obscurity  during  the 
weeks  that  had  intervened.  If  there  yet  remained 
unrest  in  the  State,  it  was  below  the  surface.  The 
Rajah  came  and  went  in  his  usual  romantic  way, 
played  polo  with  his  British  friends,  danced  and 
gracefully  flattered  their  wives  as  of  yore. 

On  one  occasion  only  did  he  ask  Stella  for  a 
dance,  but  she  excused  herself  with  a  decision  there 
was  no  mistaking.  Something  within  her  revolted 
at  the  bare  idea.  He  went  away  smiling,  but  he 
never  asked  her  again. 

Definite  orders  for  the  move  to  Udalkhand 
arrived  at  length,  and  Stella's  heart  rejoiced.  The 
place  was  situated  on  the  edge  of  a  river,  a  brown 
and  turgid  torrent  in  the  rainy  weather,  but  no 
more  than  a  torpid,  muddy  stream  before  the  mon- 
soon. A  native  town  and  temple  stood  upon  its 
banks,  but  a  sandy  road  wound  up  to  higher 
ground  on  which  a  few  bungalows  stood,  over- 
looking the  grim,  parched  desert  below. 

The  jungle  of  Khanmulla  was  not  more  than 
five  miles  distant,  and  Kurrumpore  itself  barely 
ten.  But  yet  Stella  felt  as  if  a  load  had  been 
lifted  from  her.  Surely  the  danger  here  would  be 
more  remote!  And  she  would  not  need  to  leave 
her  husband  now.  That  thought  set  her  very 
heart  a-singing. 

Monck  said  but  little  upon  the  subject.     He 


254       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

was  more  non-committal  than  ever  in  those  days. 
Everyone  said  that  Udalkhand  was  healthier 
and  cooler  than  Kurrumpore  and  he  did  not  con- 
tradict the  statement.  But  yet  Stella  came  to 
perceive  after  a  time  something  in  his  silence 
which  she  found  unsatisfactory.  She  believed  he 
watched  her  narrowly  though  he  certainly  had 
no  appearance  of  doing  so,  and  the  suspicion  made 
her  nervous. 

There  were  a  few — Lady  Harriet  among  the 
number — who  condemned  Udalkhand  from  the 
outset  as  impossible,  and  departed  for  Bhulwana 
without  attempting  to  spend  even  the  beginning 
of  the  hot  season  there.  Netta  Ermsted  also 
decided  against  it  though  Mrs.  Ralston  declared 
her  intention  of  going  thither,  and  she  and  Tessa 
departed  for  that  universal  haven  The  Grand 
Stand  before  any  one  else. 

This  freed  Mrs.  Ralston,  but  Stella  had  grown  a 
little  apart  from  her  friend  during  that  period 
at  Kurrumpore,  and  a  measure  of  reserve  hung 
between  them  though  outwardly  they  were  un- 
changed. A  great  languor  had  come  upon  Stella 
which  seemed  to  press  all  the  more  heavily  up- 
on her  because  she  only  suffered  herself  to  indulge 
it  in  Everard's  absence.  When  he  was  present 
she  was  almost  feverishly  active,  but  it  needed 
all  her  strength  of  will  to  achieve  this,  and  she  had 
no  energy  over  for  her  friends. 

Even  after  the  move  to  Udalkhand  had  been 
accomplished,  she  scarcely  felt  the  relief  which 


The  Flaming  Sword          255 

she  so  urgently  needed.  Though  the  place  was 
undoubtedly  more  airy  than  Kurrumpore,  the  air 
came  from  the  desert,  and  sand-storms  were  not 
infrequent. 

She  made  a  brave  show  nevertheless,  and  with 
Peter's  help  turned  their  new  abode  into  as  dainty 
a  dwelling-place  as  any  could  desire.  Tommy  also 
assisted  with  much  readiness  though  the  increasing 
heat  was  anathema  to  him  also.  He  was  more 
considerate  for  his  sister  just  then  than  he  had 
ever  been  before.  Often  in  Monck's  absence  he 
would  spend  much  of  his  time  with  her,  till  she 
grew  to  depend  upon  him  to  an  extent  she  scarcely 
realized.  He  had  taken  up  wood-carving  in  his 
leisure  hours  and  very  soon  she  was  fully  occu- 
pied with  executing  elaborate  designs  for  his  work- 
manship. They  worked  very  happily  together. 
Tommy  declared  it  kept  him  out  of  mischief,  for 
violent  exercise  never  suited  him  in  hot  weather. 

And  it  was  hot.  Every  day  seemed  to  bring  the 
scorching  reality  of  summer  a  little  nearer.  In 
spite  of  herself  Stella  flagged  more  and  more. 
Tommy  always  kept  a  brave  front.  He  was  full 
of  devices  for  ameliorating  their  discomfort.  He 
kept  the  punkah-coolie  perpetually  at  his  task. 
He  made  the  water-coolie  spray  the  verandah  a 
dozen  times  a  day.  He  set  traps  for  the  flies  and 
caught  them  in  their  swarms. 

But  he  could  not  take  the  sun  out  of  the  sky 
which  day  by  day  shone  from  horizon  to  horizon 
as  a  brazen  shield  burnished  to  an  intolerable 


256       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

brightness,  while  the  earth — parched  and  cracked 
and  barren — fainted  beneath  it.  The  nights  had 
begun  to  be  oppressive  also.  The  wind  from  the 
desert  was  as  the  burning  breath  from  a  far-off 
forest-fire  which  hourly  drew  a  little  nearer. 
Stella  sometimes  felt  as  if  a  monster-hand  were 
slowly  closing  upon  her,  crushing  out  her  life. 

But  still  with  all  her  might  she  strove  to  hide 
from  Monck  the  ravages  of  the  cruel  heat,  even 
stooping  to  the  bitter  subterfuge  of  faintly  colour- 
ing the  deathly  whiteness  of  her  cheeks.  For  the 
wild-rose  bloom  had  departed  long  since,  as  Netta 
Ermsted  had  predicted,  though  her  beauty  re 
mained — the  beauty  of  the  pure  white  rose  which 
is  fairer  than  any  other  flower  that  grows. 

There  came  a  burning  day  at  last,  however, 
when  she  realized  that  the  evening  drive  was 
almost  beyond  her  powers.  Tommy  was  on 
duty  at  the  barracks.  Everard  had,  she  believed, 
gone  down  to  Khanmulla  to  see  Barnes  of  the 
Police.  She  decided  in  the  absence  of  both  to  in- 
dulge in  a  rest,  and  sent  Peter  to  countermand  the 
carriage. 

Then  a  great  heaviness  came  upon  her,  and  she 
yielded  herself  to  it,  lying  inert  upon  the  couch 
in  the  drawing-room  dully  listening  to  the  creak  of 
the  punkah  that  stirred  without  cooling  the  late 
afternoon  air. 

Some  time  must  have  passed  thus  and  she  must 
have  drifted  into  a  species  of  vague  dreaming  that 
was  not  wholly  sleep  when  suddenly  there  Game  a 


The  Flaming  Sword  257 

sound  at  the  darkened  window ;  the  blind  was  lifted 
and  Monck  stood  in  the  opening. 

She  sprang  up  with  a  startled  sense  of  being 
caught  off  her  guard,  but  the  next  moment  a 
great  dizziness  came  upon  her  and  she  reeled 
back,  groping  for  support. 

He  dropped  the  blind  and  caught  her.  "Why, 
Stella! "he  said. 

She  clung  to  him  desperately.  "I  am  all  right 
— I  am  all  right!  Hold  me  a  minute!  I — I 
tripped  against  the  matting."  Gaspingly  she 
uttered  the  words,  hanging  upon  him,  for  she  knew 
she  could  not  stand  alone. 

He  put  her  gently  down  upon  the  sofa.  "Take 
it  quietly,  dear!  "he  said. 

She  leaned  back  upon  the  cushions  with  closed 
eyes,  for  her  brain  was  swimming.  "I  am  all 
right,"  she  reiterated.  "You  startled  me  a  little. 
I — didn't  expect  you  back  so  soon." 

"I  met  Barnes  just  after  I  started,"  he  made 
answer.  "He  is  coming  to  dine  presently." 

Her  heart  sank.     "  Is  he  ? "  she  said  faintly. 

"No."  Monck's  tone  suddenly  held  an  odd 
note  that  was  half -grim  and  half -protective.  "On 
second  thoughts,  he  can  go  to  the  Mess  with 
Tommy.  I  don't  think  I  want  him  any  more  than 
you  do." 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  up  at  him. 
"Everard,  of  course  he  must  dine  here  if  you  have 
asked  him!  Tell  Peter!" 

Her  vision  was  still  slightly  blurred,  but  she  saw 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

that  the  set  of  his  jaw  was  stubborn.  He  stooped 
iafter  a  moment  and  kissed  her  forehead.  "You 
lie  still!"  he  said.  "And  mind — you  are  not  to 
dress  for  dinner." 

He  turned  with  that  and  left  her. 

She  was  not  sorry  to  be  alone,  for  her  head  was 
throbbing  almost  unbearably,  but  she  would  have 
given  much  to  know  what  was  in  his  mind. 

She  lay  there  passively  till  presently  she  heard 
Tommy  dash  in  to  dress  for  mess,  and  shortly 
after  there  came  the  sound  of  men's  voices  in  the 
compound,  and  she  knew  that  Monck  and  Barnes 
were  walking  to  and  fro  together. 

She  got  up  then,  summoning  her  energies,  and 
stole  to  her  own  room.  Monck  had  commanded 
her  not  to  change  her  dress,  but  the  haggardness 
of  her  face  shocked  her  into  taking  refuge  in  the 
remedy  which  she  secretly  despised.  She  did  it 
furtively,  hoping  that  in  the  darkened  drawing- 
room  he  had  not  noted  the  ghastly  pallor  which 
she  thus  sought  to  conceal. 

Before  she  left  her  room  she  heard  Tommy 
and  Barnes  departing,  and  when  she  entered  the 
dining-room  Monck  came  in  alone  at  the  window 
and  joined  her. 

She  met  him  somewhat  nervously,  for  she 
thought  his  face  was  stern.  But  when  he  spoke, 
his  voice  held  nought  but  kindness,  and  she  was 
reassured.  He  did  not  look  at  her  with  any  very 
close  criticism,  nor  did  he  revert  to  what  had 
passed  an  hour  before. 


The  Flaming  Sword  259 

They  were  served  by  Peter,  swiftly  and  silently, 
Stella  making  a  valiant  effort  to  simulate  an  ap- 
petite which  she  was  far  from  possessing.  The 
windows  were  wide  to  the  night,  and  from  the  river 
bank  below  there  came  the  thrumming  of  some 
stringed  instrument,  which  had  a  weird  and 
strangely  poignant  throbbing,  as  if  it  voiced  some 
hidden  distress.  There  were  a  thousand  sounds 
besides,  some  near,  some  distant,  but  it  penetrated 
them  all  with  the  persistence  of  some  small  impris- 
soned  creature  working  perpetually  for  freedom. 

It  began  to  wear  upon  Stella's  nerves  at  last.  It 
was  so  futile,  yet  so  pathetic — the  same  soft  minor 
tinkle  only  a  few  stray  notes  played  over  and  over, 
•over  and  over,  till  her  brain  rang  with  the  madden- 
ing little  refrain.  She  was  glad  when  the  meal 
was  over,  and  she  could  make  the  excuse  to  move 
to  the  drawing-room.  There  was  a  piano  here, 
-a  rickety  instrument  long  since  hammered  into 
tunelessness.  But  she  sat  down  before  it.  Any- 
thing was  better  than  to  sit  and  listen  to  that 
single,  plaintive  little  voice  of  India  crying  in  the 
night. 

She  thought  and  hoped  that  Monck  would 
smoke  his  cigarette  and  suffer  himself  to  be  lulled 
into  somnolence  by  such  melody  as  she  was  able 
to  extract  from  the  crazy  old  instrument ;  but  he 
disappointed  her. 

He  smoked  indeed,  lounging  out  in  the  verandah, 
while  she  sought  with  every  allurement  to  draw 
him  in  and  charm  him  to  blissful,  sleepy  content- 


260       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

ment.  But  it  presently  came  to  her  that  there  was 
something  dogged  in  his  refusal  to  be  so  drawn, 
and  when  she  realized  that  she  brought  her  soft 
nocturne  to  a  summary  close  and  turned  round  to 
him  with  just  a  hint  of  resentment. 

He  was  leaning  in  the  doorway,  the  cigarette 
gone  from  his  lips.  His  face  was  turned  to  the 
night.  His  attitude  seemed  to  express  that  pa- 
tience which  attends  upon  iron  resolution.  He 
looked  at  her  over  his  shoulder  as  she  paused. 

"Why  don't  you  sing?"  he  said. 

A  little  tremor  of  indignation  went  through  her. 
He  spoke  with  the  gentle  indulgence  of  one  who 
humours  a  child.  Only  once  had  she  ever  sung  to 
him,  and  then  he  had  sat  in  such  utter  immobility 
and  silence  that  she  had  questioned  with  herself 
afterwards  if  he  had  cared  for  it. 

She  rose  with  a  wholly  unconscious  touch  of 
majesty.  "I  have  no  voice  to-night, "  she  said. 

"Then  come  here!"  he  said. 

His  voice  was  still  absolutely  gentle  but  it  held 
an  indefinable  something  that  made  her  raise  her 
brows. 

She  went  to  him  nevertheless,  and  he  put  his 
hand  through  her  arm  and  drew  her  close  to  his 
side.  The  night  was  heavy  with  a  brooding  heat- 
haze  that  blotted  out  the  stars.  The  little  twang- 
ing instrument  down  by  the  river  was  silent. 

For  a  space  Monck  did  not  speak,  and  gradually 
the  tension  went  out  of  Stella.  She  relaxed  at 
length  and  laid  her  cheek  against  his  shoulder. 


The  Flaming  Sword  261 

His  arm  went  round  her  in  a  moment ;  he  held 
"her  against  his  heart.  "Stella,"  he  said,  "do  you 
ever  think  to  yourself  nowadays  that  I  am  a  very 
formidable  person  to  live  with?" 

"Never,"  she  said. 

His  arm  tightened  about  her.  "You  are  not 
afraid  of  me  any  longer?" 

She  smiled  a  little.  "What  is  this  leading  up 
to?" 

He  bent  suddenly,  his  lips  against  her  forehead. 
•"Dear  heart,  if  I  am  wrong — forgive  me!  But—- 
why are  you  trying  to  deceive  me? " 

She  had  never  heard  such  tenderness  in  his  voice 
before;  it  thrilled  her  through  and  through,  check- 
ing her  first  involuntary  dismay.  She  hid  her  face 
upon  his  breast,  clasping  him  close,  trembling  from 
head  to  foot. 

He  turned,  still  holding  her,  and  led  her  to  the 
sofa.  They  sat  down  together. 

"Poor  girl!"  he  said  softly.  "It  hasn't  been 
easy,  has  it?" 

Then  she  realized  that  he  knew  all  that  she  had 
;o  strenuously  sought  to  hide.  The  struggle  was 
•aver  and  she  was  beaten.  A  great  wave  of  emo- 
tion went  through  her.  Before  she  could  check 
herself,  she  was  shaken  with  sobs. 

"No,  no!"  he  said,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
head.  "You  mustn't  cry.  It's  all  right,  my 
darling.  It's  all  right.  What  is  there  to  cry 
about?" 

She  clung  faster  to  him,  and  her  hold  was  pas- 


262       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

sionate.  ' '  Everard, ' '  she  whispered,  ' '  Everard, — 
I — can't  leave  you!" 

"Ah!"  he  said      "We  are  up  against  it  now." 

"I  can't!'  she  said  again.     "I  can't." 

His  hand  was  softly  stroking  her  hair.  Such 
tenderness  as  she  had  never  dreamed  of  was  in 
his  touch.  "Leave  off  crying!"  he  said.  "God 
knows  I  want  to  make  things  easier  for  you — not 
harder." 

"I  can  bear  anything,"  she  told  him  brokenly,, 
"anything  in  the  world — if  only  I  am  with  you. 
I  can't  leave  you.  You  won't — you  can't — force 
me  to  that." 

"Stella!    Stella!  "he  said. 

His  voice  checked  her.  She  knew  that  she  had 
hurt  him.  She  lifted  her  face  quickly  to  his. 

"Oh,  darling,  forgive  me!"  she  said.  "I  know 
you  would  not." 

He  kissed  the  quivering  lips  she  raised  without 
words,  and  thereafter  there  fell  a  silence  between 
them  while  the  mystery  of  'he  night  seemed  to 
press  closer  upon  them,  and  the  veiled  goddess 
turned  in  her  sleep  and  subtly  smiled. 

Stella  uttered  a  long,  long  sigh  at  last.  "You 
are  good  to  bear  with  me  like  this,"  she  said  rather 
piteously. 

"Belter  now?"  he  questioned  gently. 

She  closed  he  eyes  from  the  grave  scrutiny  of 
his.  "I  cm — quite  all  right,  dear,"  she  said. 
"And  I  am  taking  great  care  of  myself.  Please — 
please  don't  worry  about  me!" 


The  Flaming  Sword  263 

H  s  hand  sought  and  found  hers.  ' '  I  have  been 
worrying  about  you  for  a  long  time,"  he  said. 

She  gave  a  start  of  surprise,  ' '  I  never  th  ught 
you  noticed  anything. " 

"Yes."  With  a  characteristic  touch  of  grim- 
ness  he  answered  her.  "I  noticed  when  you  first 
began  to  colour  your  cheeks  for  my  benefit.  I 
knew  it  was  only  for  mine,  or  of  course  I  should 
have  been  furious." 

"Oh  Everard!"  She  hid  her  face  against  him 
again  with  a  little  shamed  laugh. 

He  went  on  without  mercy.  "  I  am  not  an  easy 
person  to  deceive,  you  know.  You  really  might 
have  saved  yourself  the  trouble.  I  hoped  you 
would  give  in  sooner.  That  too  would  have  saved 
trouble." 

"But  I  haven't  given  in,"  she  said. 

His  hand  closed  upon  hers.  "You  would  kill 
yourself  first  if  I  would  let  you,"  he  said.  "But 
— do  you  think  I  am  going  to  do  that?" 

"It  would  kill  me  to  leave  you,"  she  said. 

"And  what  if  it  kills  you  to  stay?"  He  spoke 
with  sudden  force.  ' '  No,  listen  a  minute !  I  have 
something  to  tell  you.  I  have  been  worried  about 
you — as  I  said — for  some  time.  To-day  I  was 
working  in  the  orderly-room,  and  Ralston  chanced 
to  come  in.  He  asked  me  how  you  were.  I  said, 
'I  am  afraid  the  climate  is  against  her.  What  do 
you  think  of  her  ?'  He  replied,  Til  tell  you  what  I 
think  of  you,  if  you  like.  I  think  you're  a  damned 
fool.'  That  opened  my  eyes."  Monck  ended 


264       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

on  the  old  grim  note.  "I  thanked  him  for  the 
information,  and  told  him  to  come  over  here  and 
see  you  on  the  earliest  opportunity.  He  has  pro- 
mised to  come  round  in  the  morning." 

"Oh,  but  Everard!"  Stella  started  up  in  swift 
protest.  "I  don't  want  him!  I  won't  see  him!" 

He  kept  her  hand  in  his.  "I  am  sorry,"  he 
said.  "But  I  am  going  to  insist  on  that." 

"You — insist ! "  She  looked  at  him  curiously,  a 
quivering  smile  about  her  lips. 

His  eyes  met  hers  uncompromisingly.  "If  ne- 
cessary," he  said. 

She  made  a  movement  to  free  herself,  but  he 
frustrated  her,  gently  but  with  indisputable  mas- 
tery. 

"Stella,"  he  said,  "things  may  be  difficult.  I 
know  they  are.  But,  my  dear,  don't  make  them 
impossible!  Let  us  pull  together  in  this  as  in 
everything  else!" 

She  met  his  look  steadily.  "You  know  what 
will  happen,  don't  you  ? "  she  said.  ' ' He  will  order 
me  to  Bhulwana." 

Monck's  hand  tightened  upon  hers.  "Better 
that,"  he  said,  under  his  breath,  "than  to  lose  you 
altogether!" 

"And  if  it  kills  me  to  leave  you?"  she  said. 
"What  then?" 

He  made  a  gesture  that  was  almost  violent,  but 
instantly  restrained  himself.  "I  think  you  are 
braver  than  that,"  he  said. 

Her  lips  quivered  again  piteously.     "I  am  not 


The  Flaming  Swora  265 

brave  at  all, "  she  said.  "I  left  all  my  courage — 
all  my  faith — in  the  mountains  one  terrible  morn- 
ing— when  God  cursed  me  for  marrying  a  man  I 
did  not  love — and  took — the  man — away." 

"My  darling!"  Monck  said.  He  drew  her  to 
him  again,  holding  her  passionately  close,  kissing 
the  trembling  lips  till  they  clung  to  his  in  answer. 
4 'Can't  you  forget  all  that,"  he  said,  "put  it  right 
away  from  you,  think  only  of  what  lies  before." 

Her  arms  were  round  his  neck.  She  poured  out 
her  very  soul  to  him  in  that  close  embrace.  But 
she  said  no  word  in  answer,  and  her  silence  was  the 
silence  of  despair.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
flaming  sword  she  dreaded  had  flashed  again  across 
her  path,  closing  the  way  to  happiness. 


CHAPTER  V 

TESSA 

THE  blue  jay  was  still  laughing  on  the  pine-clad 
slopes  of  Bhulwana  when  Stella  returned  thither. 
It  was  glorious  summer  weather.  There  was  life 
in  the  air — such  life  as  never  reached  the  Plains. 

The  bungalow  up  the  hill,  called  "The  Nest," 
which  once  Ralph  Dacre  had  taken  for  his  bride,, 
was  to  be  Stella's  home  for  the  period  of  her  sojourn 
at  Bhulwana.  It  was  a  pretty  little  place  twined 
in  roses,  standing  in  a  shady  compound  that  Tessa 
called  "the  jungle."  Tessa  became  at  once  her 
most  constant  visitor.  She  and  Scooter  were  run- 
ning wild  as  usual,  but  Netta  was  living  in  strict 
retirement.  People  said  she  looked  very  ill,  but 
she  seemed  to  resent  all  sympathy.  There  was 
an  air  of  defiance  about  her  which  kept  most 
people  at  a  distance. 

Stories  were  rife  concerning  her  continued  in- 
timacy with  the  Rajah  who  was  now  in  residence 
at  his  summer  palace  on  the  hill.  They  went  for 
gallops  together  in  the  early  morning,  and  in  the 
evenings  they  sometimes  flashed  along  the  road 
in  his  car.  But  he  was  seldom  observed  to  enter 

366 


Tessa  267 

the  bungalow  she  occupied,  and  even  Tessa  had  no 
private  information  to  add  to  the  general  gossip. 
Netta  seldom  went  to  race  course  or  polo-ground, 
where  the  Rajah  was  most  frequently  to  be 
found. 

Stella,  who  had  never  liked  Netta  Ermsted, 
took  but  slight  interest  in  her  affairs.  She  always 
welcomed  Tessa,  however,  and  presently,  since  her 
leisure  was  ample  and  her  health  considerably  im- 
proved, she  began  to  give  the  child  a  few  lessons 
which  soon  became  the  joy  of  Tessa's  heart.  She 
found  her  quick  and  full  of  enthusiasm.  Her 
devotion  to  Stella  made  her  tractable,  and  they 
became  fast  friends. 

It  was  in  June  just  before  the  rains,  that  Monck 
came  up  on  a  week's  leave.  He  found  Tessa  prac- 
tically established  as  Stella's  companion.  Her 
mother  took  no  interest  in  her  doings.  The  ayah 
was  responsible  for  her  safety,  and  even  if  Tessa 
elected  to  spend  the  night  with  her  friend,  Netta 
raised  no  objection.  It  had  always  been  her  way 
to  leave  the  child  to  any  who  cared  to  look  after 
her,  since  she  frankly  acknowledged  that  she  was 
quite  incapable  of  managing  her  herself.  If  Mrs. 
Monck  liked  to  be  bothered  with  her,  it  was 
obviously  her  affair,  not  Netta's. 

And  so  Stella  kept  the  little  girl  more  and  more 
in  her  own  care,  since  Mrs.  Ralston  was  still  at 
Udalkhand,  and  no  one  else  cared  in  the  smallest 
degree  for  her  welfare.  She  would  not  keep  her 
for  good,  though,  so  far  as  her  mother  was  con- 


268       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

cerned,  she  might  easily  have  done  so.  But  she 
did  occasionally — as  a  great  treat — have  her  to 
sleep  with  her,  generally  when  Tessa's  looks  pro- 
claimed her  to  be  in  urgent  need  of  a  long  night. 
For  she  was  almost  always  late  to  bed  when  at 
home,  refusing  to  retire  before  her  mother,  though 
there  was  little  of  companionship  between  them  at 
any  time. 

Stella  investigated  this  resolution  on  one  occa- 
sion, and  finally  extracted  from  Tessa  the  admis- 
sion that  she  was  afraid  to  go  to  bed  early  lest 
her  mother  should  go  out  unexpectedly,  in  which 
event  the  ayah  would  certainly  retire  to  the  serv- 
ants' quarters,  and  she  would  be  alone  in  the 
bungalow.  No  amount  of  reasoning  on  Stella's 
part  could  shake  this  dread.  Tessa's  nerves 
were  strung  to  a  high  pitch,  and  it  was  evident 
that  she  felt  very  strongly  on  the  subject.  So, 
out  of  sheer  pity,  Stella  sometimes  kept  her  at 
"The  Nest,"  and  Tessa's  gratitude  knew  no 
bounds.  She  was  growing  fast,  and  ought  to  have 
been  in  England  for  the  past  year  at  least;  but 
Netta's  plans  were  still  vague.  She  supposed  she 
would  have  to  go  when  the  Ralstons  did,  but  she 
saw  no  reason  for  hurry.  Lady  Harriet  remon- 
strated with  her  on  the  subject,  but  obtained  no 
satisfaction.  Netta  was  her  own  mistress  now, 
and  meant  to  please  herself. 

Monck  arrived  late  one  evening  on  the  day 
before  that  on  which  he  was  expected,  and  found 
Tessa  and  Peter  playing  with  a  ball  in  the  com- 


Tessa  269 

pound.  The  two  were  fast  friends  and  Stella 
often  left  Tessa  in  his  charge  while  she  rested. 

She  was  resting  now,  lying  in  her  own  room  with 
a  book,  when  suddenly  the  sound  of  Tessa's  voice 
raised  in  excited  welcome  reached  her.  She  heard 
Monck's  quiet  voice  make  reply,  and  started  up 
with  every  pulse  quivering.  She  had  not  seen 
him  for  nearly  six  weeks. 

She  met  him  in  the  verandah  with  Tessa  hang- 
ing on  his  arm.  Since  her  great  love  for  Stella 
had  developed,  she  had  adopted  Stella's  husband 
also  as  her  own  especial  property,  though  it  could 
scarcely  be  said  that  Monck  gave  her  much 
encouragement.  On  this  occasion  she  simply 
ceased  to  exist  for  him  the  moment  he  caught 
sight  of  Stella's  face.  And  even  Stella  herself 
forgot  the  child  in  the  first  rapture  of  greeting. 

But  later  Tessa  asserted  herself  again  with  a 
determination  that  would  not  be  ignored.  She 
begged  hard  to  be  allowed  to  remain  for  the  night ; 
but  this  Stella  refused  to  permit,  though  her  heart 
smote  her  somewhat  when  she  saw  her  finally  take 
her  departure  with  many  wistful  backward  glances. 

Monck  was  hard-hearted  enough  to  smile.  ' '  Let 
the  imp  go!  She  has  had  more  than  her  share 
already,"  he  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  divide  you 
with  any  one  under  the  sun." 

Stella  was  lying  on  the  sofa.  She  reached  out 
and  held  his  hand,  leaning  her  cheek  against  his 
sleeve.  ' '  Except — ' '  she  murmured. 

He  bent  to  her,  his  lips  upon  her  shining  hair. 


270       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Ah,  I  have  begun  to  do  that  already,"  he  said, 
with  a  touch  of  sadness.  "I  wonder  if  you  are  as 
lonely  up  here  as  I  am  at  Udalkhand." 

She  kissed  his  sleeve.  "I  miss  you — unspeak- 
ably," she  said. 

His  fingers  closed  upon  hers.  "Stella,  can  you 
keep  a  secret?" 

She  looked  up  swiftly.  "Of  course — of  course. 
What  is  it?  Have  they  made  you  Governor- 
General  of  the  province?" 

He  smiled  grimly.  "Not  yet.  But  Sir  Regi- 
nald Bassett — you  know  old  Sir  Reggie? — came  and 
inspected  us  the  other  day,  and  we  had  a  talk. 
He  is  one  of  the  keenest  empire-builders  that  I 
ever  met."  An  odd  thrill  sounded  in  Monck's 
voice.  "He  asked  me  if  presently— when  the 
vacancy  occurred — I  would  be  his  secretary,  his 
political  adviser,  as  he  put  it.  Stella,  it  would  be 
a  mighty  big  step  up.  It  would  lead — it  might 
lead — to  great  things." 

"Oh,  my  darling ! ' '  She  was  quivering  all  over. 
"Would  it — would  it  mean  that  we  should  be  to- 
gether? No,"  she  caught  herself  up  sharply, 
"that  is  sheer  selfishness.  I  shouldn't  have  asked 
that  first." 

His  lips  pressed  hers.  "Don't  you  know  it  is 
the  one  thing  that  comes  first  of  all  with  me  too?" 
he  said.  ' '  Yes,  it  would  mean  far  less  of  separation. 
It  would  probably  mean  Simla  in  the  hot  weather, 
and  only  short  absences  for  me.  It  would  mean 
an  end  of  this  beastly  regimental  life  that  you  hate 


Tessa  271 

so  badly.  What?  Did  you  think  I  didn't  know 
that?  But  it  would  also  mean  leaving  poor 
Tommy  at  the  grindstone,  which  is  hard. " 

"Dear  Tommy!  But  he  has  lots  of  friends. 
You  don't  think  he  would  get  up  to  mischief?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so.  He  is  more  of  a  man 
than  he  was.  And  I  could  keep  an  eye  on  him — 
even  from  a  distance.  Still,  it  won't  come  yet, — 
not  probably  till  the  end  of  the  year.  You  are 
fairly  comfortable  here — you  and  Peter?" 

She  smiled  and  sighed.  ' '  Oh  yes,  he  keeps  away 
the  bogies,  and  Tessa  chases  off  the  blues.  So  I 
am  well  taken  care  of!" 

"I  hope  you  don't  let  that  child  wear  you  out/' 
Monck  said.  "She  is  rather  a  handful.  Why 
don't  you  leave  her  to  her  mother  ? ' ' 

"Because  she  is  utterly  unfit  to  have  the  care  of 
her."  Stella  spoke  with  very  unusual  severity. 
"Since  Captain  Ermsted's  death  she  seems  to  have 
drifted  into  a  state  of  hopeless  apathy.  I  can't 
bear  to  think  of  a  susceptible  child  like  Tessa 
brought  up  in  such  an  atmosphere." 

"Apathetic,  is  she?  Do  you  often  see  her?" 
Monck  spoke  casually,  as  he  rolled  a  cigarette. 

"Very  seldom.  She  goes  out  very  little,  and 
then  only  with  the  Rajah.  They  say  she  looks  ill, 
but  that  is  not  surprising.  She  doesn't  lead  a 
wholesome  life!" 

"She  keeps  up  her  intimacy  with  His  Excellency 
then  ? "  Monck  still  spoke  as  if  his  thoughts  were 
elsewhere. 


272       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Stella  dismissed  the  subject  with  a  touch  of 
impatience.  She  had  no  desire  to  waste  any  pre- 
cious moments  over  idle  gossip.  "I  imagine  so, 
but  I  really  know  very  little.  I  don't  encourage 
Tessa  to  talk.  As  you  know,  I  never  could  bear 
the  man. " 

Monck  smiled  a  little.  ' '  I  know  you  are  discre- 
tion itself/'  he  said.  "But  you  are  not  to  adopt 
Tessa,  mind,  whatever  the  state  of  her  mother's 
morals!" 

"Ah,  but  I  must  do  what  I  can  for  the  poor 
waif,"  Stella  protested.  "There  isn't  much  that 
I  can  do  when  I  am  away  from  you, — not  much,  I 
mean,  that  is  worth  while." 

"All  right,"  Monck  said  with  finality,  "so  long 
as  you  don't  adopt  her. " 

Stella  saw  that  he  did  not  mean  to  allow  Tessa 
a  very  large  share  of  her  attention  during  his  leave. 
She  did  not  dispute  the  point,  knowing  that  he 
could  be  as  adamant  when  he  had  formed  a 
resolution. 

But  she  did  not  feel  happy  about  the  child. 
There  was  to  her  something  tragic  about  Tessa, 
as  if  the  e  il  fate  that  had  overtaken  the  father 
brooded  like  a  dark  cloud  over  her  also.  Her  mind 
was  not  at  rest  concerning  her. 

In  the  morning,  however,  Tessa  arrived  upon 
the  .scene,  impudent  and  cheerful,  and  she  felt 
reassured.  Her  next  anxiety  became  to  keep  her 
from  annoying  Monck  upon  whom  naturally 
Tessa's  main  attention  was  centered,  Tessa, 


Tessa  273 

however,  was  in  an  unusually  tiresome  mood. 
She  refused  to  be  contented  with  the  society  of  the 
ever-patient  Peter,  repudiated  the  bare  idea  of 
lesson  books,  and  set  herself  with  fiendish  ingenu- 
ity to  torment  the  new-comer  into  exasperation. 

Stella  could  have  wept  over  her  intractability. 
She  had  never  before  found  her  difficult  to  manage. 
But  Netta's  perversity  and  Netta's  devilry  were 
uppermost  in  her  that  day,  and  when  at  last 
Monck  curtly  ordered  her  not  to  worry  herself  but 
to  leave  the  child  alone,  she  gave  up  her  efforts  in 
despair.  Tessa  was  riding  for  a  fall. 

It  came  eventually,  after  two  hours'  provocation 
on  her  part  and  stern  patience  on  Monck's.  Stella, 
at  work  in  the  drawing-room,  heard  a  sudden  sharp 
exclamation  from  the  verandah  where  Monck  was 
seated  before  a  table  littered  with  Hindu  litera- 
ture, and  looked  up  to  see  Tessa,  with  a  monkey- 
like  grin  of  mischief,  smoking  the  cigarette  which 
she  had  just  snatched  from  between  Monck's  lips. 
She  was  dancing  on  one  leg  just  out  of  reach,  ready 
to  take  instant  flight  should  the  occasion  require. 

Stella  was  on  the  point  of  starting  up  to  inter- 
vene, but  Monck  stopped  her  with  a  word.  He 
was  quieter  than  she  had  ever  seen  him,  and  that 
fact  of  itself  warned  her  that  he  was  angry  at  last. 

"Come  here!"  he  said  to  Tessa. 

Tessa  removed  the  cigarette  to  poke  her  tongue 
out  at  him,  and  continued  her  war-dance  just  out 
of  reach.  It  was  Netta  to  the  life. 

Monck  glanced  at  the  watch  on  his  wrist.     "I 

18 


274       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

give  you  one  minute,"  he  said,  and  returned  to  his 
work." 

"Why  don't  you  chase  me?"  gibed  Tessa. 

He  said  nothing  further,  but  to  Stella  his  silence 
was  ominous.  She  watched  him  with  anxious  eyes. 

Tessa  continued  to  smoke  and  dance,  posturing 
like  a  nautch-gxl  in  front  of  the  wholly  unrespons- 
ive and  unappreciative  Monck. 

The  minute  passed,  Stella  counting  the  seconds 
with  a  throbbing  heart.  Monck  did  not  raise  his 
eyes  or  stir,  but  there  was  to  her  something  dread- 
ful in  his  utter  stillness.  She  marvelled  at  Tessa's 
temerity. 

Tessa  continued  to  dance  and  jeer  till  suddenly, 
finding  that  she  was  making  no  headway,  a  demon 
of  temper  entered  into  her.  She  turned  in  a  fury, 
sprang  from  the  verandah  to  the  compound, 
snatched  up  a  handful  of  small  stones  and  flung 
them  full  at  the  impassive  Monck. 

They  fell  around  him  in  a  shower.  He  looked 
up  at  last. 

What  ensued  was  almost  too  swift  for  Stella's 
vision  to  follow.  She  saw  him  leap  the  verandah- 
balustrade,  and  heard  Tessa's  shrill  scream  of 
fright.  Then  he  had  the  offender  in  his  grasp,  and 
Stella  saw  the  deadly  determination  of  his  face  as 
he  turned. 

In  spite  of  herself  she  sprang  up,  but  again  his 
voice  checked  her.  "All  right.  This  is  my  job. 
Bring  me  the  strap  off  the  bag  in  my  room!" 

"Everard!"  she  cried  aghast. 


Tessa  275 

Tessa  was  struggling  madly  for  freedom.  He 
mastered  her  as  he  would  have  mastered  a  refrac- 
tory puppy,  carrying  her  up  the  steps  ignomini- 
ously  under  his  arm. 

"Do  as  I  say!"  he  commanded. 

And  against  her  will  Stella  turned  and  obeyed. 
She  fetched  the  strap,  but  she  held  it  back  when  he 
stretched  a  hand  for  it. 

"Everard,  she  is  only  a  child.  You  won't — 
you  won't " 

"Flay  her  with  it?"  he  suggested,  and  she  saw 
his  brief,  ironic  smile.  ' '  Not  at  present.  Hand  it 
over ! ' ' 

She  gave  it  reluctantly.  Tessa  squealed  a  wild 
remonstrance.  The  merciless  grip  that  held  her 
had  sent  terror  to  her  heart. 

Monck,  still  deadly  quiet,  set  her  on  her  feet 
against  one  of  the  wooden  posts  that  supported  the 
roof  of  the  verandah,  passed  the  strap  round  her 
waist  and  buckled  it  firmly  behind  the  post. 

Then  he  stood  up  and  looked  again  at  the  watch 
on  his  wrist.  "Two  hours!"  he  said  briefly,  and 
went  bac  to  his  work  at  the  other  end  of  the  ve- 
randah. 

Stella  went  back  to  the  drawing-room,  half- 
relieved  and  half-dismayed.  It  was  useless  to 
interfere,  she  saw;  but  the  punishment,  though 
richly  deserved,  was  a  heavy  one,  and  she  won- 
dered how  Tessa,  the  ever-restless,  wrought  up  to 
a  high  pitch  of  nervous  excitement  as  she  was, 
would  stand  it. 


276       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

The  thickness  of  the  post  to  which  she  was  fast- 
ened made  it  impossible  for  her  to  free  herself. 
The  strap  was  a  very  stout  one,  and  the  buckle 
such  as  only  a  man's  fingers  could  loosen.  It  was 
an  undignified  position,  and  Tessa  valued  her 
dignity  as  a  rule. 

She  cast  it  to  the  winds  on  this  occasion,  how- 
ever, for  she  fought  like  a  wild  cat  for  freedom, 
and  when  at  length  her  absolute  helplessness  was 
made  quite  clear  even  to  her,  she  went  into  a  parox- 
ysm of  fury,  hurling  every  kind  of  invective  that 
occurred  to  her  at  Monck  who  with  the  grimness  of 
an  executioner  sat  at  his  table  in  unbroken  silence. 

Having  exhausted  her  vocabulary,  both  English 
and  Hindustani,  Tessa  broke  at  last  into  tears  and 
wept  stormily  for  many  minutes.  Monck  sat 
through  the  storm  without  raising  his  eyes. 

From  the  drawing-room  Stella  watched  him. 
She  was  no  longer  afraid  of  any  unconsidered  vio- 
lence. He  was  completely  master  of  himself,  but 
she  thought  there  was  a  hint  of  cruelty  about  him 
notwithstanding.  There  was  ruthlessness  in  his 
utter  immobility. 

The  hour  for  tiffin  drew  near.  Peter  came  out 
on  to  the  verandah  to  lay  the  cloth.  Monck  gath- 
ered up  books  and  papers  and  rose. 

The  great  Sikh  looked  at  the  child  shaken  with 
passionate  sobbing  in  the  corner  of  the  verandah 
and  from  her  to  Monck  with  a  touch  of  ferocity  in 
his  dark  eyes.  Monck  met  the  look  with  a  frown 
and  turned  away  without  a  word.  He  passed 


Tessa 


down  the  verandah  to  his  own  room,  and  Peter 
with  hands  that  shook  slightly  proceeded  with  his 
task. 

Tessa's  sobbing  died  down,  and  there  fell  a 
strained  silence.  Stella  still  sat  in  the  drawing- 
room,  but  she  was  out  of  sight  of  the  two  on  the 
verandah.  She  could  only  hear  Peter's  soft  move- 
ments. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  tense  whisper.  "Peter! 
Peter!  Quick!" 

Like  a  shadow  Peter  crossed  her  line  of  vision. 
She  heard  a  murmured,  "Missy  baba/"  and  rising, 
she  bent  forward  and  saw  him  in  the  act  of  severing 
Tessa's  bond  with  the  bread-knife.  It  was  done  in 
a  few  hard-breathing  seconds.  The  child  was  free. 
Peter  turned  in  triumph,  —  and  found  Monck 
standing  at  the  other  end  of  the  verandah,  looking 
at  him. 

Stella  stepped  out  at  the  same  moment  and  saw 
him  also.  She  felt  the  blood  rush  to  her  heart. 
Only  once  had  she  seen  Monck  look  as  he  looked 
now,  and  that  on  an  occasion  of  which  even  yet 
she  never  willingly  suffered  herself  to  think. 

Peter's  triumph  wilted.  "Run,  Missy  baba/" 
he  said,  in  a  hurried  whisper,  and  moved  himself  to 
meet  the  wrath  of  the  gods. 

Tessa  did  not  run.  Neither  did  she  spring  to 
Stella  for  protection.  She  stood  for  a  second  or 
two  in  indecision  ;  then  with  an  odd  little  strangled 
cry  she  darted  in  front  of  Peter,  and  went  straight 
to  Monck. 


278       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"It — it  wasn't  Peter's  fault!"  she  declared 
breathlessly.  ' '  I  told  him  to ! " 

Monck's  eyes  went  over  her  head  to  the  native 
beyond  her.  He  spoke — a  few,  brief  words  in 
the  man's  own  language — and  Peter  winced  as 
though  he  had  been  struck  with  a  whip,  and 
bent  himself  in  an  attitude  of  the  most  profound 
humility. 

Monck  spoke  again  curtly,  and  as  if  at  the  sud- 
den jerk  of  a  string  the  man  straightened  himself 
and  went  away. 

Then  Tessa,  weeping,  threw  herself  upon  Monck. 
' '  Do  please  not  be  angry  with  him !  It  was  all  my 
fault.  You — you — you  can  whip  me  if  you  like! 
Only  you  mustn't  be  cross  with  Peter!  It  isn't — 
it  isn't — fair!" 

He  stood  stiffly  for  a  few  seconds,  as  if  he  would 
resist  her;  and  Stella  leaned  against  the  window- 
frame,  feeling  physically  sick  as  she  watched  him. 
Then  abruptly  his  eyes  came  to  hers,  and  she  saw 
his  face  change.  He  put  his  hand  on  Tessa's 
shoulder. 

"If  you  want  forgiveness  for  yourself — and 
Peter,"  he  said  grimly,  "go  back  to  your  corner 
and  stay  there!" 

Tessa  lifted  her  tear-stained  face,  looked  at  him 
closely  for  a  moment,  then  turned  submissively 
and  went  back. 

Monck  came  down  the  verandah  to  his  wife. 
He  put  his  arm  around  her,  and  drew  her  within, 

"Why  are  you  trembling?"  he  said. 


Tessa  279 

She  leaned  her  head  against  him.  "Everard, 
what  did  you  say  to  Peter?" 

' '  Never  mind ! "  said  Monck. 

She  braced  herself.  "You  are  not  to  be  angry 
with  him.  He — is  my  servant.  I  will  reprimand 
him — if  necessary. " 

"It  isn't,"  said  Monck,  with  a  brief  smile. 
"You  can  tell  him  to  finish  laying  the  cloth." 

He  kissed  her  and  let  her  go,  leaving  her  with  a 
strong  impression  that  she  had  behaved  foolishly. 
If  it  had  not  been  for  that  which  she  had  seen  in  his 
eyes  for  those  few  awful  seconds,  she  would  have 
despised  herself  for  her  utter  imbecility.  But  the 
memory  was  one  which  she  could  not  shake  from 
her.  She  did  not  wonder  that  even  Peter,  proud 
Sikh  as  he  was,  had  quailed  before  that  look. 
Would  Monck  have  accepted  even  Tessa's  appeal 
if  he  had  not  found  her  watching  ?  She  wondered. 
She  wondered. 

She  did  not  look  forward  to  the  meal  on  the 
verandah,  but  Monck  realized  this  and  had  it 
laid  in  the  dining-room  instead.  At  his  command 
Peter  carried  a  plate  out  to  Tessa,  but  it  came  back 
untouched,  Peter  explaining  in  a  very  low  voice 
that  'Missy  baba  was  not  hungry.'  The  man's 
attitude  was  abject.  He  watched  Monck  furtively 
from  behind  Stella's  chair,  obeying  his  every  behest 
with  a  promptitude  that  expressed  the  most  com- 
plete submission. 

Monck  bestowed  no  attention  upon  him.  He 
smiled  a  little  when  Stella  expressed  concern  over 


280       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Tessa's  failure  to  eat  anything.  It  was  evident 
that  he  felt  no  anxiety  on  that  score  himself. 
"Leave  the  imp  alone!"  he  said.  "You  are  not 
to  worry  yourself  about  her  any  more.  You  have 
done  more  than  enough  in  that  line  already." 

There  was  insistence  in  his  tone — an  insistence 
which  he  maintained  later  when  he  made  her  lie 
down  for  her  afternoon  rest,  steadily  refusing  to  let 
her  go  near  the  delinquent  until  she  had  had  it. 

Greatly  against  her  will  she  yielded  the  point, 
protesting  that  she  could  not  sleep  nevertheless. 
But  when  he  had  gone  she  realized  that  the  hap- 
penings of  the  morning  had  wearied  her  more  than 
she  knew.  She  was  very  tired,  and  she  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep  which  lasted  for  nearly  two  hours. 

Awakening  from  this,  she  got  up  with  some 
compunction  at  having  left  the  child  so  long,  and 
went  to  her  window  to  look  for  her.  She  found  the 
corner  of  Tessa's  punishment  empty.  A  little 
further  along  the  verandah  Monck  lounged  in  a 
deep  cane  chair,  and,  curled  in  his  arms  asleep 
with  her  head  against  his  neck  was  Tessa. 

Monck's  eyes  were  fixed  straight  before  him. 
He  was  evidently  deep  in  thought.  But  the  grim 
lines  about  his  mouth  were  softened,  and  even  as 
Stella  looked  he  stirred  a  little  very  cautiously  to 
ease  the  child's  position.  Something  in  the  action 
sent  the  tears  to  her  eyes.  She  went  back  into  her 
room,  asking  herself  how  she  had  ever  doubted 
for  a  moment  the  goodness  of  his  heart. 

Somewhere  down  the  hill  the  blue  jay  was 


Tessa  281 

laughing  hilariously,  scoffingly,  as  one  who  marked 
with  cynical  amusement  the  passing  show  of  life; 
and  a  few  seconds  later  the  Rajah's  car  flashed 
past,  carrying  the  Rajah  and  a  woman  wearing  a 
cloudy  veil  that  streamed  far  out  behind  her. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   ARRIVAL 

Two  months  later,  on  a  dripping  evening  in 
August,  Monck  stood  alone  on  the  verandah  of  his 
bungalow  at  Udalkhand  with  a  letter  from  Stella  in 
his  hand.  He  had  hurried  back  from  duty  on 
purpose  to  secure  it,  knowing  that  it  would  be 
awaiting  him.  She  had  become  accustomed  to 
the  separation  now,  though  she  spoke  yearningly  of 
his  next  leave.  Mrs.  Ralston  had  joined  her,  and 
she  wrote  quite  cheerfully.  She  was  very  well, 
and  looking  forward — oh,  so  much — to  the  winter. 
There  was  certainly  no  sadness  to  be  detected 
between  the  lines,  and  Monck  folded  up  the  letter 
and  looked  across  the  dripping  compound  with  a 
smile  in  his  eyes. 

When  the  winter  came,  he  would  probably  have 
taken  up  his  new  appointment.  Sir  Reginald 
Bassett — a  man  of  immense  influence  and  energy 
— was  actually  in  Udalkhand  at  that  moment.  He 
was  ostensibly  paying  a  friendly  visit  at  the 
Colonel's  bungalow,  but  Monck  knew  well  what  it 
was  that  had  brought  him  to  that  steaming  corner 
of  Markestan  in  the  very  worst  of  the  rainy  season. 
•fa 


The  Arrival  283, 

He  had  come  to  make  some  definite  arrangement 
with  him.  Probably  before  that  very  night  was 
over,  he  would  have  begun  to  gather  the  fruit  of 
his  ambition.  He  had  started  already  to  climb 
the  ladder,  and  he  would  raise  Stella  with  him, 
Stella  and  that  other  being  upon  whom  he  some- 
times suffered  his  thoughts  to  dwell  with  a  semi- 
humorous  contemplation  as — his  son.  A  fantastic 
fascination  hung  about  the  thought.  He  could 
not  yet  visualize  himself  as  a  father.  It  was  easier 
far  to  picture  Stella  as  a  mother.  But  yet,  like  a, 
magnet  drawing  him,  the  vision  seemed  to  beckon* 
He  walked  the  desert  with  a  lighter  step,  and 
Tommy  swore  that  he  was  growing  younger. 

There  was  an  enclosure  in  Stella's  letter  from 
Tessa,  who  called  him  her  darling  Uncle  Everard 
and  begged  him  to  come  soon  and  see  how  good  she 
was  getting.  He  smiled  a  little  over  this  also,  but 
with  a  touch  of  wonder.  The  child's  worship, 
seemed  extraordinary  to  him.  His  conquest  of 
Tessa  had  been  quite  complete,  but  it  was  odd  that 
in  consequence  of  it  she  should  love  him  as  she 
loved  no  one  else  on  earth.  Yet  that  she  did  so 
was  an  indubitable  fact.  Her  devotion  exceeded 
even  that  of  Tommy,  which  was  saying  much. 
She  seemed  to  regard  him  as  a  sacred  being,  and 
her  greatest  pleasure  in  life  was  to  do  him  service. 

He  put  her  letter  away  also,  reflecting  that  he- 
must  manage  somehow  to  make  time  to  answer  it. 
As  he  did  so,  he  heard  Tommy's  voice  hail  him. 
from  the  compound,  and  in  a  moment  the  boy 


284       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

raced  into  sight,  taking  the  verandah  steps  at 
a  hop,  skip,  and  jump. 

"Hullo,  old  chap!  Admiring  the  view  eh? 
What?  Got  some  letters?  Have  you  heard  from 
your  brother  yet?" 

' '  Not  a  word  f 01  weeks. ' '  Monck  turned  to  meet 
him.  "I  can't  think  what  has  happened  to  him." 

"Can't  you  though?  I  can!"  Tommy  seized 
him  impetuously  by  the  shouders;  he  was  rocking 
with  laughter.  "Oh,  Everard,  old  boy,  this  beats 
^everything!  That  brother  of  yours  is  coming 
along  the  road  now.  And  he's  travelled  all  the 
way  from  Khanmulla  in  a — in  a  bullock-cart!" 

"What?"  Monck  stared  in  amazement.  "Are 
you  mad?"  he  inquired. 

"No — no.  It's  true!  Go  and  see  for  your- 
self, man!  They're  just  getting  here,  slow  and 
sure.  He  must  be  well  stocked  with  patience. 
Come  on!  They're  stopping  at  the  gate  now." 

He  dragged  his  brother-in-law  to  the  steps. 
Monck  went,  half-suspicious  of  a  hoax.  But  he 
had  barely  reached  the  path  below  when  through 
the  rain  there  came  the  sound  of  wheels  and  heavy 
jingling. 

' '  Come  on ! "  yelled  Tommy.  ' '  It's  too  good  to 
miss!" 

But  ere  they  arrived  at  the  gate  it  was  blocked 
by  a  massive  figure  in  a  streaming  black  mackin- 
tosh, carrying  a  huge  umbrella.  "I  say,"  said  a 
soft  voice,  "  what  a  damn'  jolly  part  of  the  world  to 
live  in!" 


The  Arrival  285 

"Bernard!"  Monck's  voice  sounded  incredu- 
lous, yet  he  passed  Tommy  at  a  bound. 

"Hullo,  my  boy,  hullo!"  Cheerily  the  new- 
comer made  answer.  "How  do  you  open  this 
beastly  gate?  Oh,  I  see!  Swelled  a  bit  from  the 
rain.  I  must  see  to  that  for  you  presently.  Hullo, 
Everard !  I  chanced  to  find  myself  in  this  direc- 
tion so  thought  I  would  look  up  you  and  your  wife. 
How  are  you,  my  boy?" 

An  immense  hand  came  forth  and  grasped 
Monck's.  A  merry  red  face  beamed  at  him  from 
under  the  great  umbrella.  Twinkling  eyes  with 
red  lashes  shone  with  the  utmost  good-will. 

Monck  gripped  the  hand  as  if  he  would  never  let 
it  go.  But  "My  good  man,  you're  mad  to  come 
here!"  were  the  only  words  of  welcome  he  found 
to  utter. 

"Think  so?"  A  humorous  chuckle  accom- 
panied the  words.  "Well,  take  me  indoors  and 
give  me  a  drink !  There  are  a  few  traps  in  the  cart 
outside.  Had  we  better  collect  'em  first?" 

"I'll  see  to  them,"  volunteered  Tommy,  whose 
sense  of  humour  was  still  somewhat  out  of  control. 
'Take  him  in  out  of  the  rain,  Everard!  Send  the 
khit  along!" 

He  was  gone  with  the  words,  and  Everard,  with 
his  brother's  hand  pulled  through  his  arm,  piloted 
him  up  to  the  bungalow. 

In  the  shelter  of  the  verandah  they  faced  each 
other,  the  one  brother  square  and  powerful,  so 
broad  as  to  make  his  height  appear  insignificant; 


286       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

the  other,  brown,  lean,  muscular,  a  soldier  in 
every  line,  his  dark,  resolute  face  a  strange  con- 
trast to  the  ruddy  open  countenance  of  the  man 
who  was  the  only  near  relation  he  possessed  in  the 
world. 

"Well, — boy!  I  believe  you've  grown."  The 
elder  brother,  surveyed  the  younger  with  his 
shrewd,  twinkling  eyes.  "By  Jove,  I'm  sure  you 
have!  I  used  not  to  have  to  look  up  to  you  like 
this.  Is  it  this  devilish  climate  that  does  it  ?  And 
what  on  earth  do  you  live  on  ?  You  look  a  positive 
skeleton." 

"Oh,  that's  India,  yes."  Everard  brushed 
aside  all  personal  comment  as  superfluous.  ' '  Come 
along  in  and  refresh!  What  particular  star  have 
you  fallen  from  ?  And  why  in  thunder  didn't  you 
say  you  were  coming?" 

Ihe  elder  man  laughed,  slapping  him  on  the 
shoulder  with  hearty  force.  His  clean-shaven 
face  was  as  free  from  care  as  a  boy's.  He  looked 
as  if  life  had  dealt  kindly  with  him. 

"Ah,  I  know  you,"  he  said.  "Wouldn't  you 
have  written  off  post-haste — if  you  hadn't  cabled 
— and  said,  'Wait  till  the  rains  are  over?'  But  I 
had  raised  my  anchor  and  I  didn't  mean  to  wait. 
So  I  dispensed  with  your  brotherly  counsel,  and 
here  I  am !  You  won't  find  me  in  the  way  at  all. 
I'm  dashed  good  at  effacing  myself." 

"My  dear  good  chap,"  Everard  said,  "you're 
about  the  only  man  in  the  world  who  need  never 
think  of  doing  that." 


The  Arrival  287 

Bernard's  laugh  was  good  to  hear.  "Who 
taught  you  to  turn  such  a  pretty  compliment? 
Where  is  your  wif e  ?  I  want  to  see  her. ' ' 

"You  don't  suppose  I  keep  her  in  this  filthy 
place,  do  you?"  Everard  was  pouring  out  a 
drink  as  he  spoke.  "No,  no!  She  has  been  at 
Bhulwana  in  the  Hills  for  the  past  three  months. 
Now,  St.  Bernard,  is  this  as  you  like  it?" 

The  big  man  took  the  glass,  looking  at  him  with 
a  smile  of  kindly  criticism.  "Well,  you  won't 
bore  each  other  at  that  rate,  anyhow,"  he  re- 
marked. "Here's  to  you  both!  I  drink  to  the 
greatest  thing  in  life!"  He  drank  deeply  and  set 
down  the  glass.  "Look  here!  You're  just  off  to 
mess.  Don't  let  me  keep  you!  All  I  want  is  a 
cold  bath.  And  then — if  you've  got  a  spare  shake- 
down of  any  sort — going  to  bed  is  mere  ritual  with 
me.  I  can  sleep  on  my  head — anywhere." 

"You'll  sleep  in  a  decent  bed,"  declared  Ever- 
ard. "But  you're  coming  along  to  mess  with  me 
first.  Oh  yes,  you  are.  Of  course  you  are !  There's 
an  hour  before  us  yet  though.  Hullo,  Tommy? 
Let  me  introduce  you  formally  to  my  brother!  St. 
Bernard, — my  brother-in-law  Tommy  Denvers." 

Tommy  came  in  through  the  window  and  shook 
hands  with  much  heartiness. 

"The  khit  is  seeing  to  everything.  Pleased  to 
meet  you,  sir!  Beastly  wet  for  you,  I'm  afraid, 
but  there's  worse  things  than  rain  in  India.  Hope 
you  had  a  decent  voyage." 

Bernard  laughed  in  his  easy,  good-humoured 


288       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

fashion.  "Like  the  niggers,  I  can  make  myself 
comfortable  most  anywheres.  We  had  rather  a 
foul  time  after  leaving  Aden.  Ratting  in  the  hold 
was  our  main  excitement  when  we  weren't  sweating 
at  the  pumps.  Oh  no,  I  didn't  come  over  in  one 
of  your  majestic  liners.  I  have  a  sailor's  soul." 

A  flicker  of  admiration  shot  through  the  mer- 
riment in  Tommy's  eyes.  "Wish  I  had,"  he 
observed.  ' '  But  the  very  thought  of  the  sea  turns 
mine  upside  down.  If  you're  keen  on  ratting, 
there's  plenty  of  sport  of  that  kind  to  be  had  here. 
The  brutes  hold  gymkhanas  on  the  verandah  every 
night.  I  sit  up  with  a  gun  sometimes  when  Ever- 
ard  is  out  of  the  way. ' 

"Yes,  he's  a  peaceful  person  to  live  with," 
remarked  Everard.  "Have  something  to  eat,  St. 
Bernard!" 

"No,  no,  thanks!  My  appetite  will  keep.  A 
cold  bath  is  my  most  pressing  need.  Can  I  have 
that?" 

' '  Sure ! ' '  said  Tommy.  ' '  You're  coming  to  mess 
with  us  of  course?  Old  Reggie  Bassett  is  honour- 
ing us  with  his  presence  to-night.  It  will  be  a 
historic  occasion,  eh,  Everard?" 

He  smiled  upon  the  elder  brother  with  obvious 
pleasure  at  the  prospect.  Bernard  Monck  always 
met  with  a  welcome  wherever  he  went,  and  Tommy 
was  prepared  to  like  any  one  belonging  to  Everard. 
It  was  good  too  to  see  Everard  with  that  eager  light 
in  his  eyes.  During  the  whole  of  their  acquaint- 
ance he  had  never  seen  him  look  so  young. 


The  Arrival  289 

Bernard  held  a  somewhat  different  opinion, 
however,  and  as  he  found  himself  alone  again  with 
his  brother  he  took  him  by  the  shoulders,  and  held 
him  for  a  closer  survey. 

"What  has  India  been  doing  to  you,  dear 
fellow?"  he  said.  "You  look  about  as  ancient  as 
the  Sphinx.  Been  working  like  a  dray-horse  all 
this  time?" 

"Perhaps."  Everard's  smile  held  something 
of  restraint.  "We  can't  all  of  us  stand  still,  St. 
Bernard.  Perpetual  youth  is  given  only  to  the 
favoured  few." 

' '  Ah ! "  The  older  man's  eyes  narrowed  a  little. 
For  a  moment  there  existed  a  curious,  wholly  in- 
definite, resembance  between  them.  ' '  And  you  are 
happy?"  he  asked  abruptly. 

Everard's  eyes  held  a  certain  hardness  as  he 
replied,  "Provisionally,  yes.  I  haven't  got  all  I 
want  yet — if  that's  what  you  mean.  But  I  am  on 
the  way  to  getting  it." 

Bernard  Monck  looked  at  him  a  moment  longer, 
and  let  him  go.  ' '  Are  you  sure  you're  wanting  the 
right  thing?"  he  said. 

It  was  not  a  question  that  demanded  an  answer, 
and  Everard  made  none.  He  turned  aside  with  a 
scarcely  perceptible  lift  of  the  shoulders. 

"You  haven't  told  me  yet  how  you  come  to  be 
here,"  he  said.  "Have  you  given  up  the  Chart- 
hurst  chaplaincy  ? ' ' 

"It  gave  me  up."  Bernard  spoke  quietly, 
but  there  was  deep  regret  in  his  voice,  "Anew 


290       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

governor  came — a  man  of  curiously  rigid  ideas. 
Anyway,  I  was  not  parson  enough  for  him.  We 
couldn't  assimilate.  I  tried  my  hardest,  but  we 
couldn't  get  into  touch  anywhere.  I  preached  the 
law  of  Divine  liberty  to  the  captives.  And  he — 
good  man !  preferred  to  keep  them  safely  locked  in 
the  dungeon.  I  was  forced  to  quit  the  position. 
I  had  no  choice." 

"What  a  fool!"  observed  Everard  tersely. 

Bernard's  ready  smile  re-appeared.  "Thanks, 
old  chap!"  he  said.  "That's  just  the  point  of 
view  I  wanted  you  to  take.  Now  I  have  other 
schemes  on  hand.  I'll  tell  you  later  what  they  are, 
I  think  I'd  better  have  that  cold  bath  next  if 
you're  really  going  to  take  me  along  to  mess  with 
you.  By  Jove,  how  it  does  rain!  Does  it  ever 
leave  off  in  these  parts?" 

"Not  very  often  this  time  of  the  year.  I'm 
not  going  to  let  you  stay  here  for  long."  Everard 
spoke  with  his  customary  curt  decision.  "It's 
no  place  for  fellows  like  you.  You  must  go  to 
Bhulwana  and  join  my  wife." 

"Many  thanks!"  Bernard  made  a  grotesque 
gesture  of  submission.  "What  sort  of  woman  is 
your  wife,  my  son?  Do  you  think  she  will  like 
me?" 

Everard  turned  and  smote  him  on  the  shoulder. 
"Of  course  she  will!  She  will  adore  you.  All 
women  do." 

"Oh,  not  quite!"  protested  Bernard  modestly. 
"I'm  not  tall  enough  to  please  everyone  of  the 


The  Arrival  291 

feminine  gender.  But  you  think  your  wife  will 
overlook  that?" 

"I  know, "  said  Everard,  with  conviction. 

His  brother  laughed  with  cheery  self-satisfaction. 
"In  that  case,  of  course  I  shall  adore  her, "  he  said. 


CHAPTER  VII 

FALSE   PRETENCES 

THEY  were  a  merry  party  at  mess  that  night. 
General  Sir  Reginald  Bassett  was  a  man  of  the 
bluff  soldierly  order  who  knew  how  to  command 
respect  from  his  inferiors  while  at  the  same  time 
he  set  them  at  their  ease.  There  was  no  pomp  and 
circumstance  about  him,  yet  in  the  whole  of  the 
Indian  Empire  there  was  not  an  officer  more  highly 
honoured  and  few  who  possessed  such  wide  in- 
fluence as  "old  Sir  Reggie,"  as  irreverent  sub- 
alterns fondly  called  him. 

The  new  arrival,  Bernard  Monck,  diffused  a 
genial  atmosphere  quite  unconsciously  wherever 
he  went,  and  he  and  the  old  Indian  soldier  gravi- 
tated towards  each  other  almost  instinctively. 
Colonel  Mansfield  declared  later  that  they  made  it 
impossible  for  him  to  maintain  order,  so  spon- 
taneous and  so  infectious  was  the  gaiety  that  ran 
round  the  board.  Even  Major  Ralston 's  leaden 
sense  of  humour  was  stirred.  As  Tommy  had 
declared,  it  promised  to  be  a  historic  occasion. 

When  the  time  for  toasts  arrived  and,  after  the 
usual  routine,  the  Colonel  proposed  the  health  of 
292 


False  Pretences  293 

their  honoured  guest  of  the  evening,  Sir  Reginald 
interposed  with  a  courteous  request  that  that  of 
their  other  guest  might  be  coupled  with  his,  and 
the  dual  toast  was  drunk  with  acclamations. 

' '  I  hope  I  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  more 
of  you  during  your  stay  in  India,"  the  General 
remarked  to  his  fellow-guest  when  he  had  returned 
thanks  and  quiet  was  restored.  "You  have  come 
for  the  winter,  I  presume." 

Bernard  laughed.  "Well,  no,  sir,  though  I  shall 
hope  to  see  it  through.  I  am  not  globe-trotting, 
and  times  and  seasons  don't  affect  me  much.  My 
only  reason  for  coming  out  at  all  was  to  see  my 
brother  here.  You  see,  we  haven't  met  for  a 
good  many  years." 

The  statement  was  quite  casually  made,  but 
Major  Burton,  who  was  seated  next  to  him,  made 
a  sharp  movement  as  if  startled.  He  was  a  man 
who  prided  himself  upon  his  astuteness  in  dis- 
covering discrepancies  in  even  the  most  truthful 
stories. 

"Didn't  you  meet  last  year  when  he  went 
Home?"  he  said. 

"Last  year!  No.  He  wasn't  Home  last  year." 
Bernard  looked  full  at  his  questioner,  understand- 
ing neither  his  tone  nor  look. 

A  sudden  silence  had  fallen  near  them ;  it  spread 
like  a  widening  ring  upon  disturbed  waters. 

Major  Burton  spoke,  in  his  voice,  a  queer, 
scoffing  inflection.  "He  was  absent  on  Home 
leave  anyway.  We  all  understood — were  given  to 


294       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

understand — that  you  had  sent  him  an  urgent 
summons." 

"I?"  For  an  instant  Bernard  Monck  stared  in 
genuine  bewilderment.  Then  abruptly  he  turned 
to  his  brother  who  was  listening  inscrutably  on 
the  other  side  of  the  table.  ' '  Some  mistake  here, 
Everard, "  he  said.  "You  haven't  been  Home  for 
seven  years  or  more  have  you?" 

There  was  dead  silence  in  the  room  as  he  put  the 
question — a  silence,  so  full  of  expectancy  as  to  be 
almost  painful.  Across  the  table  the  eyes  of  the 
two  brothers  met  and  held. 

Then,  "I  have  not,"  said  Everard  Monck  with 
quiet  finality. 

There  was  no  note  of  challenge  in  his  voice, 
neither  was  there  any  dismay.  But  the  effect  of 
his  words  upon  every  man  present  was  as  if  he  had 
flung  a  bomb  into  their  midst.  The  silence  endured 
tensely  for  a  couple  of  seconds,  then  there  came  a 
hard  breath  and  a  general  movement  as  if  by  com- 
mon consent  the  company  desired  to  put  an  end  to 
a  situation  that  had  become  unendurable. 

Bertie  Oakes  dug  Tommy  in  the  ribs,  but 
Tommy  was  as  white  as  death  and  did  not  even  feel 
it.  Something  had  happened,  something  that 
made  him  feel  giddy  and  very  sick.  That  signi- 
ficant silence  was  to  him  nothing  short  of  tragedy. 
He  had  seen  his  hero  topple  at  a  touch  from  the 
high  pinnacle  on  which  he  had  placed  him,  and  he 
felt  as  if  the  very  ground  under  his  feet  had  become 
a  quicksand. 


False  Pretences  295 

As  in  a  maze  of  shifting  impressions  he  heard  Sir 
Reginald  valiantly  covering  the  sudden  breach, 
talking  inconsequently  in  a  language  which  Tommy 
could  not  even  recognize  as  his  own.  And  the 
Colonel  was  seconding  his  efforts,  while  Major 
Burton  sat  frowning  at  the  end  of  his  cigar  as  if  he 
were  trying  to  focus  his  sight  upon  something 
infinitesimal  and  elusive.  No  one  looked  at 
Monck,  in  fact  everyone  seemed  studiously  to 
avoid  doing  so.  Even  his  brother  seemed  lost  in 
meditation  with  his  eyes  fixed  immovably  upon  a 
lamp  that  hung  from  the  ceiling  and  swayed 
ponderously  in  the  draught. 

Then  at  last  there  came  a  definite  move,  and 
Bertie  Oakes  poked  him  again.  "Are  you  moon- 
struck?" he  said. 

Tommy  got  up  with  the  rest,  still  feeling  sick 
and  oddly  unsure  of  himself.  He  pushed  his 
brother-subaltern  aside  as  if  he  had  been  an  inani- 
mate object,  and  somehow,  groping,  found  his  way 
to  the  door  and  out  to  the  entrance  for  a  breath  of 
air. 

It  was  raining  heavily  and  the  odour  of  a  thou- 
sand intangible  things  hung  in  the  atmosphere. 
For  a  space  he  leaned  in  the  doorway  undisturbed; 
then,  heralded  by  the  smell  of  a  rank  cigar,  Ralston 
lounged  up  and  joined  him. 

"Are  you  looking  for  a  safe  corner  to  catch  fever 
in?"  he  inquired  phlegmatically,  after  a  pause. 

Tommy  made  a  restless  movement,  but  spoke  no 
word. 


296       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Ralstf  n  smoked  for  a  space  in  silence.  Prom 
behind  them  there  came  the  rattle  of  billiard-balls 
and  careless  clatter  of  voices.  Before  them  was  a 
pall-like  darkness  and  the  endless  patter  of  rain. 

Suddenly  Ralston  spoke.  "Make  no  mis- 
take!" he  said.  "There's  a  reason  for  every- 
thing." 

The  words  sounded  irrelevant ;  they  even  had  a 
sententious  ring.  Yet  Tommy  turned  towards 
him  with  an  impulsive  gesture  of  gratitude. 

"Of  course!"  he  said. 

Ralston  relapsed  into  a  ruminating  silence.  A 
full  minute  elapsed  before  he  spoke  again.  Then : 
"You  don't  like  taking  advice  I  know, "  he  said,  in 
his  stolid,  somewhat  gruff  fashion.  ' '  But  if  you're 
wise,  you'll  swallow  a  stiff  dose  of  quinine  before 
you.  turn  in.  Good-night!" 

He  swung  round  on  his  heel  and  walked  away. 
Tommy  knew  that  he  had  gone  for  his  nightly 
game  of  chess  with  Major  Burton  and  would  not 
exchange  so  much  as  another  half-dozen  words 
with  any  one  during  the  rest  of  the  evening 

He  himself  remained  for  a  while  where  he  was, 
recovering  his  balance;  then  at  length  donned  his 
mackintosh,  and  tramped  forth  into  the  night. 
Ralston  was  right.  Doubtless  there  was  a  reason. 
He  would  stake  his  life  on  Everard's  honour  what- 
ever the  odds. 

In  a  quiet  corner  of  the  ante-room  sat  Everard 
Monck,  deeply  immersed  in  a  paper.  Near  him  a 
group  of  bridge-players  played  an  almost  silent 


False  Pretences  297 

game.  Sir  Reginald  and  his  brother  had  followed 
the  youngsters  to  the  billiard-room,  the  Colonel 
had  accompanied  them,  but  after  a  decent  interval 
he  left  the  guests  to  themselves  and  returned  to 
the  ante-room. 

He  passed  the  bridge-players  by  and  came  to 
Monck.  The  latter  glanced  up  at  his  approach. 

"Are  you  looking  for  me,  sir?" 

4 '  If  you  can  spare  me  a  moment,  I  shall  be  glad," 
the  Colonel  said  formally. 

Monck  rose  instantly.  His  dark  face  had  a 
granite-like  look  as  he  followed  his  superior  officer 
from  the  room.  The  bridge-players  watched  him 
with  furtive  attention,  and  resumed  their  game  in 
silence. 

The  Colonel  led  the  way  back  to  the  mess-room, 
now  deserted.  "I  shall  not  keep  you  long,"  he 
said,  as  Monck  shut  the  door  and  moved  forward. 
"But  I  must  ask  of  you  an  explanation  of  the  fact 
which  came  to  light  this  evening."  He  paused 
a  moment,  but  Monck  spoke  no  word,  and  he 
continued  with  growing  coldness.  "Rather  more 
than  a  year  ago  you  refused  a  Government  mission, 
for  which  your  services  were  urgently  required,  on 
the  plea  of  pressing  business  at  Home.  You  had 
Home  leave — at  a  time  when  we  were  under- 
officered — to  carry  this  business  through.  Now, 
Captain  Monck,  will  you  be  good  enough  to  tell 
me  how  and  where  you  spent  that  leave?  What- 
ever you  say  I  shall  treat  as  confidential." 

He  still  spoke  formally,  but  the  usual  rather 


298       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

pompous  kindliness  of  his  face  had  given  place  to  a 
look  of  acute  anxiety. 

Monck  stood  at  the  table,  gazing  straight  before 
him.  "You  have  a  perfect  right  to  ask,  sir,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment.  "But  I  am  not  in  a  position 
to  answer." 

"In  other  words,  you  refuse  to  answer?"  The 
Colonel's  voice  had  a  rasp  in  it,  but  that  also  held 
more  of  anxiety  than  anger. 

Monck  turned  and  directly  faced  him.  "I  am 
compelled  to  refuse,"  he  said. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Colonel  Mansfield 
was  looking  at  him  as  if  he  would  read  him  through 
and  through.  -  But  no  stone  mask  could  have  been 
more  impenetrable  than  Monck's  face  as  he  stood 
stiffly  waiting. 

When  the  Colonel  spoke  again  it  was  wholly 
without  emotion.  His  tones  fell  cold  and  mea- 
sured. "You  obtained  that  leave  upon  false  pre- 
tences? You  had  no  urgent  business  ?" 

Monck  answered  him  with  machine-like  accur- 
acy. "Yes,  sir,  I  deceived  you.  But  my  business 
was  urgent  nevertheless.  That  is  my  only  excuse. ' ' 

"Was  it  in  connection  with  some  Secret  Service 
requirement?"  The  Colonel's  tone  was  strictly 
judicial  now;  he  had  banished  all  feeling  from  face 
and  manner. 

And  again,  like  a  machine,  Monck  made  his  curt 
reply.  "No,  sir." 

' '  There  was  nothing  official  about  it  ? " 

"Nothing." 


False  Pretences  299 

"I  am  to  conclude  then — "  again  the  rasp  was 
in  the  Colonel's  voice,  but  it  sounded  harsher  now 
— "that  the  business  upon  which  you  absented 
yourself  was  strictly  private  and  personal?" 

"It  was,  sir." 

The  commanding  officer's  brows  contracted 
heavily.  "Am  I  also  to  conclude  that  it  was 
something  of  a  dishonourable  nature?"  he  asked. 

Monck  made  a  scarcely  perceptible  movement. 
It  was  as  if  the  point  had  somehow  pierced  his 
armour.  But  he  covered  it  instantly.  "Your 
deductions  are  of  your  own  making,  sir,"  he 
said. 

"I  see."  The  Colonel's  tone  was  openly  harsh. 
"You  are  ashamed  to  tell  me  the  truth.  Well, 
Captain  Monck,  I  cannot  compel  you  to  do  so. 
But  it  would  have  been  better  for  your  own  sake  if 
you  had  taken  up  a  less  reticent  attitude.  Of 
course  I  realize  that  there  are  certain  shameful 
occasions  regarding  which  any  man  must  keep 
silence,  but  I  had  not  thought  you  capable  of 
having  a  secret  of  that  description  to  guard.  I 
think  it  very  doubtful  if  General  Bassett  will  now 
require  your  services  upon  his  staff." 

He  paused.  Monck's  hands  were  clenched  and 
rigid,  but  he  spoke  no  word,  and  gave  no  other 
sign  of  emotion. 

"You  have  nothing  to  say  to  me?"  the  Colonel 
asked,  and  for  a  moment  the  official  air  was  gone. 
He  spoke  as  one  man  to  another  and  almost  with 
entreaty. 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

But,  "Nothing,  sir, "  said  Monck  firmly,  and  the 
moment  passed. 

The  Colonel  turned  aside.  ' '  Very  well, "  he  said 
briefly, 

Monck  swung  round  and  opened  the  door  for 
him,  standing  as  stiffly  as  a  soldier  on  parade. 

He  went  out  without  a  backward  glance. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   WRATH   OF  THE   GODS 

IT  was  nearly  an  hour  later  that  Everard  Monck 
and  his  brother  left  the  mess  together  and  walked 
back  through  the  dripping  darkness  to  the  bunga- 
low on  the  hill  overlooking  the  river.  The  rush 
of  the  swollen  stream  became  audible  as  they  drew 
near.  The  sound  of  it  was  inexpressibly  wild  and 
desolate. 

"It's  an  interesting  country,"  remarked  Ber- 
nard, breaking  a  silence.  "I  don't  wonder  she 
has  got  hold  of  you,  my  son.  What  does  your  wife 
think  of  it  ?  Is  she  too  caught  in  the  toils? " 

Not  by  word  or  look  had  he  made  the  smallest 
reference  to  the  episode  at  the  mess-table.  It  was 
as  if  he  alone  of  those  present  had  wholly  missed 
its  significance. 

Everard  answered  him  quietly,  without  much 
emphasis.  "I  believe  my  wife  hates  it  from 
beginning  to  end.  Perhaps  it  is  not  surprising. 
She  has  been  through  a  good  deal  since  she  came 
out.  And  I  am  afraid  there  is  a  good  deal  before 
her  still." 

Bernard's  b^g  hand  closed  upon  his  arm.  ' '  Poor 
301 


302       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

old  chap!"  he  said.  "You  Indian  fellows  don't 
have  any  such  time  of  it,  or  your  women  folk  either. 
How  long  is  she  a  fixture  at  Bhulwana? " 

"The  baby  is  expected  in  two  months'  time." 
Everard  spoke  without  emotion,  his  voice  sounded 
almost  cold.  "After  that,  I  don't  know  what  will 
happen.  Nothing  is  settled.  Tell  me  your  plans 
now !  No,  wait !  Let's  get  in  out  of  this  damned 
rain  first!" 

They  entered  the  bungalow  and  sat  down  for 
another  smoke  in  the  drawing-room. 

Down  by  the  river  a  native  instrument 
thrummed  monotonously,  like  the  whirring  of  a 
giant  mosquito  in  the  darkness.  Everard  turned 
with  a  slight  gesture  of  impatience  and  closed  the 
window. 

He  established  his  brother  in  a  long  chair  with  a 
drink  at  his  elbow,  and  sat  down  himself  without 
any  pretence  at  taking  his  ease. 

"You  don't  look  particularly  comfortable," 
Bernard  observed. 

"Don't  mind  me!"  he  made  curt  response. 
"I've  got  a  touch  of  fever  to-night.  It's  nothing. 
I  shall  be  all  right  in  the  morning." 

"Sure?"  Bernard's  eyes  suddenly  ceased  to 
be  quizzical;  they  looked  at  him  straight  and 
hard. 

Everard  met  the  look,  faintly  smiling.  "I 
don't  lie  about — unimportant  things,"  he  re- 
marked cynically.  "Light  up,  man,  and  fire 
away!" 


The  Wrath  of  the  Gods        303 

He  struck  a  match  for  his  brother's  pipe  and 
kindled  his  own  cigarette  thereat. 

There  fell  a  brief  silence.  Bernard  did  not  look 
wholly  satisfied.  But  after  a  few .  seconds  he 
seemed  to  dismiss  the  matter  and  began  to  talk  of 
himself. 

"You  want  to  know  my  plans,  old  chap.  Well, 
as  far  as  I  know  'em  myself,  you  are  quite  welcome. 
With  your  permission,  I  propose,  for  the  present, 
to  stay  where  I  am." 

"I  shouldn't  if  I  were  you."  Everard  spoke 
with  brief  decision.  "You'd  be  far  better  off  at 
Bhulwana  till  the  end  of  the  rains." 

Bernard  puffed  forth  a  great  cloud  of  smoke  and 
stared  at  the  ceiling.  "That  is  as  may  be,  dear 
fellow,"  he  said,  after  a  moment.  "But  I  think — 
if  you'll  put  up  with  me — I'll  stay  here  for  the 
present  all  the  same." 

He  spoke  in  that  peculiarly  gentle  voice  of  his 
that  yet  held  considerable  resolution.  Everard 
made  no  attempt  to  combat  the  decision.  Per- 
haps he  realized  the  uselessness  of  such  a  pro- 
ceeding. 

"Stay  by  all  means!"  he  said,  "but  what's  the 
idea?" 

Bernard  took  his  pipe  from  his  mouth.  "I 
have  a  big  fight  before  me,  Everard  boy, "  he  said, 
"a  fight  against  the  sort  of  prejudice  that  kicked  me 
out  of  the  Charthurst  job.  It's  got  to  be  fought 
with  the  pen — since  I  am  no  street  corner  ranter. 
I  have  the  solid  outlines  of  the  campaign  in  my 


3<M       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

head,  and  I  have  come  out  here  to  get  right  away 
from  things  and  work  it  out." 

' '  Going  to  reform  creation  ? ' '  suggested  Everard, 
with  kfc  grim  smile. 

Bernard  shook  his  head,  smiling  in  answer  as 
though  the  cynicism  had  not  reached  him.  "No, 
that's  not  my  job.  I  am  only  a  man  under  author- 
ity— like  yourself.  I  don't  see  the  result  at  all. 
I  only  see  the  work,  and  with  God's  help,  that 
will  be  exactly  what  He  intended  it  should  be  when 
He  gave  it  to  me  to  do." 

"Lucky  man!"  said  Everard  briefly. 

"Ah!  I  didn't  think  myself  lucky  when  I  had 
to  give  up  the  Charthurst  chaplaincy."  Bernard 
spoke  through  a  haze  of  smoke.  "I'm  afraid  I 
kicked  a  bit  at  first — which  was  a  short-sighted 
thing  to  do,  I  admit.  But  I  had  got  to  look  on  it  as 
my  life-work,  and  I  loved  it.  It  held  such  oppor- 
tunities," He  broke  off  with  a  sharp  sigh.  "I 
shall  be  at  it  again  if  I  go  on.  Can't  you  give  me 
something  pleasanter  to  think  about?  Haven't 
you  got  a  photograph  of  your  wife  to  show  me?" 

Everard  got  up.  "Yes,  I  have.  But  it  doesn't 
do  her  justice."  He  took  a  letter-case  from  his 
pocket  and  opened  it.  A  moment  he  stood  bent 
over  the  portrait  he  withdrew  from  it,  then  turned 
and  handed  it  to  his  brother. 

Bernard  studied  it  in  silence.  It  was  an  un- 
mounted amateur  photograph  of  Stella  standing  on 
the  creeper-grown  verandah  of  the  Green  Bunga- 
low. She  was  smiling,  but  her  eyes  were  faintly 


The  Wrath  of  the  Gods        305 

sad,  as  though  shadowed  by  the  memory  of  some 
past  pain. 

For  many  seconds  Bernard  gazed  upon  the 
pictured  face.  Finally  he  spoke. 

''Your  wife  must  be  a  very  beautiful  woman." 

"Yes,"  said  Everard  quietly. 

He  spoke  gravely.  His  brother's  eyes  travelled 
upwards  swiftly.  "That  was  not  what  you  mar- 
ried her  for,  eh?" 

Everard  stooped  and  took  the  portrait  from 
him.  "Well,  no — not  entirely,"  he  said. 

Bernard  smiled  a  little.  "  You  haven't  told  me 
much  about  her,  you  know.  How  long  have  you 
been  acquainted?" 

"Nearly  two  years.  I  think  I  mentioned  in  my 
letter  that  she  was  the  widow  of  a  comrade?" 

"Yes,  I  remember.  But  you  were  rather  vague 
about  it.  What  happened  to  him?  Didn't  he 
meet  with  a  violent  death?" 

There  was  a  pause.  Everard  was  still  standing 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  photograph.  His  face 
was  stern. 

"What  was  it?"  questioned  Bernard.  "Didn't 
he  fall  over  a  precipice?" 

"Yes,"  abruptly  the  younger  man  made 
answer.  "It  happened  in  Kashmir  when  they 
were  on  their  honeymoon." 

"Ah!  Poor  girl!  She  must  have  suffered. 
What  was  his  name  ?  Was  he  a  pal  of  yours  ? ' ' 

"More  or  less."  Everard 's  voice  rang  hard. 
4 'His  name  was  Dacre." 


3o6       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

' '  Oh,  to  be  sure.  The  man  I  wrote  to  you  about 
just  before  poor  Madelina  Belleville  died  in  prison. 
Her  husband  s  name  was  Dacre.  He  was  in  the 
Army  too,  and  she  thought  he  was  in  India.  But 
it's  not  a  very  uncommon  name."  Bernard  spoke 
thoughtfully.  "You  said  he  was  no  relation." 

"I  said  to  the  best  of  my  belief  he  was  not." 
Everard  turned  suddenly  and  sat  down.  "Peo- 
ple are  not  keen,  you  know,  on  owning  to 
shady  relations.  He  was  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
But  if  the  woman  died,  it's  of  no  great  consequence 
now  to  any  one.  When  did  she  die?" 

Bernard  took  a  long  pull  at  his  pipe.  His  brows 
were  slightly  drawn.  "She  died  suddenly,  poor 
soul.  Did  I  never  tell  you?  It  must  have  been 
immediately  after  I  wrote  that  letter  to  you.  It 
was.  I  remember  now.  It  was  the  very  day  after 
....  She  died  on  the  twenty-first  of  March — 
the  first  day  of  spring.  Poor  girl!  She  had  so 
longed  for  the  spring.  Her  time  would  have  been 
up  in  May." 

Something  in  the  silence  that  followed  his  words 
made  him  turn  his  head  to  look  at  his  brother. 
Everard  was  sitting  perfectly  rigid  in  his  chair 
staring  at  the  ground  between  his  feet  as  if  he  saw  a 
serpent  writhing  there.  But  before  another  word 
could  be  spoken,  he  got  up  abruptly,  with  a  ges- 
ture as  of  shaking  off  the  loathsome  thing,  and 
went  to  the  window.  He  flung  it  wide,  and  stood 
in  the  opening,  breathing  hard  as  a  man  half- 
suffocated. 


The  Wrath  of  the  Gods        307 

"Anything  wrong,  old  chap?"  questioned  Ber- 
nard. 

He  answered  him  without  turning.  "No;  it's 
only  my  infernal  head.  I  think  I'll  turn  in  directly. 
It's  a  fiendish  night." 

The  rain  was  falling  in  torrents,  and  a  long  roll 
of  thunder  sounded  from  afar.  The  clatter  of 
the  great  drops  on  the  roof  of  the  verandah  filled 
the  room,  making  all  further  conversation  impos- 
sible. It  was  like  a  tattoo  of  devils. 

"A  damn'  pleasant  country  this!"  murmured 
the  man  in  the  chair. 

The  man  at  the  window  said  no  word.  He  was 
gasping  a  little,  his  face  to  the  howling  night. 

For  a  space  Bernard  lay  and  watched  him. 
Then  at  last,  somewhat  ponderously  he  arose. 

Everard  could  not  have  heard  his  approach,  but 
he  was  aware  of  it  before  he  reached  him.  He 
turned  swiftly  round,  pulling  the  window  closed 
behind  him. 

They  stood  facing  each  other,  and  there  was 
something  tense  in  the  atmosphere,  something 
that  was  oddly  suggestive  of  mental  conflict. 
The  devils'  tattoo  on  the  roof  had  sunk  to  a  mere 
undersong,  a  fitting  accompaniment  as  it  were  to 
the  electricity  in  the  room. 

Bernard  spoke  at  length,  slowly,  deliberately, 
but  not  unkindly.  "Why  should  you  take  the 
trouble  to — fence  with  me?"  he  said.  "Is  it 
worth  it,  do  you  think?" 

Everard's  face  was  set  and  grey  like  a  stone  mask. 


308       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  did  not  speak  for  a  moment;  then  curtly,  non- 
committally,  <rWhat  do  you  mean?"  he  said. 

"I  mean,"  very  steadily  Bernard  made  reply, 
"that  the  scoundrel  Dacre,  who  married  Madelina 
Belleville  and  then  deserted  her,  left  her  to  go 
to  the  dogs,  and  your  brother-officer  who  was 
killed  in  the  mountains  on  his  honeymoon,  were 
one  and  the  same  man.  And  you  knew  it." 

"Well?"  The  words  seemed  to  come  from 
closed  lips.  There  was  something  terrible  in  the 
utter  quietness  of  its  utterance. 

Bernard  searched  his  face  as  a  man  might  search 
the  walls  of  an  apparently  impregnable  fortress 
for  some  vulnerable  spot.  "Ah,  I  see,"  he  said, 
after  a  moment.  "You  must  have  believed 
Madelina  to  be  still  alive  when  Dacre  married. 
What  was  the  date  of  his  marriage? " 

"The  twenty-fifth  of  March."  Again  the  grim 
lips  spoke  without  seeming  to  move. 

A  gleam  of  relief  crossed  his  brother's  face.  ' '  In 
that  case  no  one  is  any  the  worse.  I'm  sorry 
you've  carried  that  bugbear  about  with  you  for  so 
long.  What  an  infernal  hound  the  fellow  was ! ' ' 

"Yes,"  assented  Everard. 

He  moved  to  the  table  and  poured  himself  out 
a  drink. 

His  brother  still  watched  him.  "One  might 
almost  say  his  death  was  providential,"  he  ob- 
served. "Of  course — your  wife — never  knew  of 
this?" 

"No."      Everard   lifted  the  glass  to  his  Kps 


The  Wrath  of  the  Gods        309 

with  a  perfectly  steady  hand  and  drank.  "She 
never  will  know, "  he  said,  as  he  set  it  down. 

"Certainly  not.  You  can  trust  me  never  to  tell 
her."  Bernard  moved  to  his  side,  and  laid  a 
kindly  hand  on  his  shoulder.  ' '  You  know  you  can 
trust  me,  old  fellow?" 

Everard  did  not  look  at  him.  "Yes,  I  know," 
he  said. 

His  brother's  hand  pressed  upon  him  a  little. 
"Since  they  are  both  gone,"  he  said,  "there  is 
nothing  more  to  be  said  on  the  subject.  But,  oh, 
man,  stick  to  the  truth,  whatever  else  you  let  go 
of!  You  never  lied  to  me  before." 

His  tone  was  very  earnest.  It  held  urgent 
entreaty.  Everard  turned  and  met  his  eyes.  His 
dark  face  was  wholly  emotionless.  "I  am  sorry, 
St.  Bernard,"  he  said. 

Bernard's  kindly  smile  wrinkled  his  eyes.  He 
grasped  and  held  the  younger  man's  hand.  "All 
right,  boy.  I'm  going  to  forget  it,"  he  said. 
"Now  what  about  turning  in?" 

They  parted  for  the  night  immediately  after, 
the  one  to  sleep  as  serenely  as  a  child  almost  as 
soon  as  he  lay  down,  the  other  to  pace  to  and  fro, 
to  and  fro,  for  hours,  grappling — and  grappling 
in  vain — with  the  sternest  adversary  he  had  ever 
had  to  encounter. 

For  upon  Everard  Monck  that  night  the  wrath 
of  the  gods  had  descended,  and  against  it,  even  his 
grim  fortitude  was  powerless  to  make  a  stand. 
He  was  beaten  before  he  could  begin  to  defend 


310       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

himself,  beaten  and  flung  aside  as  contemptible. 
Only  one  thing  remained  to  be  fought  for,  and  that 
one  thing  he  swore  to  guard  with  the  last  ounce  of 
his  strength,  even  at  the  cost  of  life  itself. 

All  through  that  night  of  bitter  turmoil  he  came 
back  again  and  again  to  that,  the  only  solid  foot- 
hold left  him  in  the  shifting  desert-sand.  So  long 
as  his  heart  should  beat  he  would  defend  that  one 
precious  possession  that  yet  remained, — the  hon- 
our of  the  woman  who  loved  him  and  whom  he 
loved  as  only  the  few  know  how  to  love. 


PART  IV 

CHAPTER  I 
DEVILS'  DICE 

"Ix's  a  pity, "  said  Sir  Reginald. 

"It's  a  damnable  pity,  sir,"  Colonel  Mansfield 
spoke  with  blunt  emphasis.  "I  have  trusted  the 
fellow  almost  as  I  would  have  trusted  myself. 
And  he  has  let  me  down." 

The  two  were  old  friends.  The  tie  of  India 
bound  them  both.  Though  their  ways  lay  apart 
and  they  met  but  seldom,  the  same  spirit  was 
in  them  and  they  were  as  comrades.  They  sat 
together  in  the  Colonel's  office  that  looked  over 
the  streaming  parade-ground.  A  gleam  of  morn- 
ing sunshine  had  pierced  the  clouds,  and  the  smoke 
of  the  Plains  went  up  like  a  furnace. 

"I  shouldn't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said   Sir 
Reginald,  after  a  thoughtful  moment.     "Things 
are  not  always  what  they  seem.     One  is  apt  to 
repent  of  a  hasty  judgment." 
' '  I  know. ' '    The  Colonel  spoke  with  his  eyes  upon 
the  rising  cloud  of  steam  outside.     "But  this 
fellow  has  always  had  my  confidence,  and  I  can't 
311 


31*       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

get  over  what  he  himself  admits  to  have  been  a 
piece  of  double-dealing.  I  suppose  it  was  a  sudden 
temptation,  but  he  had  always  been  so  straight 
with  me;  at  least  I  had  always  imagined  him 
so.  He  has  rendered  some  invaluable  services 
too." 

"That  is  partly  why  I  say,  don't  be  too  hasty," 
said  Sir  Reginald.  "We  can't  afford — India  can't 
afford — to  scrap  a  single  really  useful  man." 

"Neither  can  she  afford  to  make  use  of  rotters, " 
rejoined  the  Colonel. 

Sir  Reginald  smiled  a  little.  "I  am  not  so  sure 
of  that,  Mansfield.  Even  the  rotters  have  their 
uses.  But  I  am  quite  convinced  in  my  own  mind 
that  this  man  is  very  far  from  being  one.  I  feel 
inclined  to  go  slow  for  a  time  and  give  him  a 
chance  to  retrieve  himself.  Perhaps  it  may  sound 
soft  to  you,  but  I  have  never  floored  a  man  at  his 
first  slip.  And  this  man  has  a  clean  record  behind 
him.  Let  it  stand  him  in  good  stead  now ! " 

"It  will  take  me  some  time  to  forget  it,"  the 
Colonel  said.  "I  can  forgive  almost  anything 
except  deception.  And  that  I  loathe." 

"It  isn't  pleasant  to  be  cheated,  certainly," 
Sir  Reginald  agreed.  "When  did  this  happen? 
Was  he  married  at  the  time?" 

4 '  No. ' '  The  Colonel  meditated  for  a  few  seconds 
"He  only  married  last  spring.  This  was  con- 
siderably more  than  a  year  ago.  It  must  have 
been  the  spring  of  the  preceding  year.  Yes,  by 
Jove,  it  was!  It  was  just  at  the  time  of  poor 


Devils'  Dice  313 

Dacre's  marriage.  Dacre,  you  know,  married 
young  Denvers'  sister — the  girl  who  is  now 
Monck's  wife.  Dacre  was  killed  on  his  honey- 
moon only  a  fortnight  after  the  wedding.  You 
remember  that,  Burton?"  He  turned  abruptly 
to  the  Major  who  had  entered  while  he  was 
speaking. 

Burton  came  to  a  stand  at  the  table.  His  eyes 
were  set  very  close  together,  and  they  glittered 
meanly  as  he  made  reply.  "I  remember  it  very 
well  indeed.  His  death  coincided  with  this 
mysterious  leave  of  Monck's,  and  also  with  the 
unexpected  absence  of  our  man  Rustam  Karin 
just  at  a  moment  when  Barnes  particularly  needed 
him." 

"Who  is  Rustam  Karin?"  asked  Sir  Reginald. 

"A  police  agent.  A  clever  man.  I  may  say, 
an  invaluable  man."  Colonel  Mansfield  was 
looking  hard  at  the  Major's  ferret-like  face  as  he 
made  reply.  "No  one  likes  the  fellow.  He  is 
suspected  of  being  a  leper.  But  he  is  clever.  He  is 
undoubtedly  clever.  I  remember  his  absence.  It 
was  at  the  time  of  that  mission  to  Khanmulla, 
the  mission  I  wanted  Monck  to  take  in  hand." 

"Exactly."  Major  Burton  rapped  out  the 
word  with  a  sound  like  the  cracking  of  a  nut. 
"We — or  rather  Barnes — tried  to  pump  Hafiz 
about  it,  but  he  was  a  mass  of  ignorance  and  lies. 
I  believe  the  old  brute  turned  up  again  before 
Monck's  return,  but  he  wasn't  visible  till  after- 
wards. He  and  Monck  have  always  been  thick  as 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

thieves — thick  as  thieves."  He  paused,  looking 
at  Sir  Reginald.  "A  very  fishy  transaction,  sir," 
he  observed. 

Sir  Reginald's  eyes  met  his.  "Are  you,"  he 
said  calmly,  "trying  to  establish  any  connection 
between  the  death  of  Dacre  and  the  absence  from 
Kurrumpore  of  this  man  Rustam  Karin?" 

"Not  only  Rustam  Karin,  sir,"  responded  the 
Major  sharply. 

"Ah!  Quite  so.  How  did  Dacre  die?"  Sir 
Reginald  still  spoke  quietly,  judicially.  There 
was  nothing  encouraging  in  his  aspect. 

Burton  hesitated  momentarily,  as  if  some  inner 
warning  prompted  him  to  go  warily. 

"That  was  what  no  one  knew  for  certain,  sir. 
He  disappeared  one  night.  The  story  went  that 
he  fell  over  a  precipice.  Some  old  native  beggar 
told  the  tale.  No  one  knows  who  the  man  was." 

"But  you  have  your  eye  upon  Rustam  Karin?" 
suggested  Sir  Reginald. 

Burton  hesitated  again.  "One  doesn't  trust 
these  fellows,  sir, "  he  said. 

"True!"  Sir  Reginald's  voice  sounded  very 
dry.  ' 4  Perhaps  it  is  a  mistake  to  trust  any  one  too 
far.  This  is  all 'the  evidence  you  can  muster?" 

"Yes,  sir."  Burton  looked  suddenly  embar- 
rassed. "Of  course  it  is  not  evidence,  strictly 
speaking,"  he  said.  "But  when  mysteries  coin- 
cide, one  is  apt  to  link  them  together.  And  the 
death  of  Captain  Dacre  always  seemed  to  me 
kighly  mysterious. ' ' 


Devils*  Dice  315 

"The  death  of  Captain  Ermsted  was  no  less 
so,"  put  in  the  Colonel  abruptly.  "Have  you 
any  theories  on  that  subject  also?" 

Burton  smiled,  showing  his  teeth.  "I  always 
have  theories,"  he  said. 

Sir  Reginald  made  a  slight  movement  of  im- 
patience. "I  think  this  is  beside  the  point,"  he 
said.  "Captain  Ermsted's  murderer  will  prob- 
ably be  traced  one  day." 

"Probably,  sir,"  agreed  Major  Burton,  "since 
I  hear  unofficially  that  Captain  Monck  has  the 
matter  in  hand.  Ah ! ' ' 

He  broke  off  short  as,  with  a  brief  knock  at  the 
door,  Monck  himself  made  an  abrupt  appearance. 

He  came  forward  as  if  he  saw  no  one  in  the 
room  but  the  Colonel.  His  face  wore  a  curiously 
stony  look,  but  his  eyes  burned  with  a  fierce 
intensity.  He  spoke  without  apology  or  prelimi- 
nary of  any  sort. 

"I  have  just  had  a  message,  sir,  from  Bhul- 
wana, "  he  said.  "I  wish  to  apply  for  immediate 
leave." 

The  Colonel  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  "A 
message,  Captain  Monck?" 

"From  my  wife,"  Monck  said,  and  drew  a 
hard  breath  between  his  teeth.  His  hands  were 
clenched  hard  at  his  sides.  "I've  got  to  go!"  he 
said.  "  I've  got  to  go !" 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  Then:  "May 
I  see  the  message?"  said  the  Colonel. 

Monck's  eyelids  flickered  sharply,  as  if  he  had 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

been  struck  across  the  face.  He  thrust  out  his 
right  hand  and  flung  a  crumpled  paper  upon  the 
table,  ' '  There,  sir ! "  he  said  harshly. 

There  was  violence  in  the  action,  but  it  did  not 
hold  insolence.  Sir  Reginald  leaning  forward, 
was  watching  him  intently.  As  the  Colonel, 
with  a  word  of  excuse  to  himself,  took  up  and 
opened  the  paper,  he  rose  quietly  and  went  up  to 
Monck.  Thin,  wiry,  grizzled,  he  stopped  beside 
him. 

Major  Burton  retired  behind  the  Colonel, 
realizing  himself  as  unnecessary  but  too  curious 
to  withdraw  altogether. 

In  the  pause  that  followed,  a  tense  silence 
reigned.  Monck  was  swaying  as  he  stood.  His 
eyes  had  the  strained  and  awful  look  of  a  man 
with  his  soul  in  torment.  After  that  one  hard 
breath,  he  had  not  breathed  at  all. 

The  Colonel  looked  up.  "Go,  certainly!"  he 
said,  and  there  was  a  touch  of  the  old  kindliness 
in  his  voice  that  he  tried  to  restrain.  "And  as 
soon  as  possible!  I  hope  you  will  find  a  more 
reassuring  state  of  affairs  when  you  get  there." 

He  held  out  the  telegram.  Monck  made  a 
movement  to  take  it,  but  as  he  did  so  the  tension 
in  which  he  gripped  himself  suddenly  gave  way. 
He  blundered  forward,  his  hands  upon  the  table. 

"She  will  die,"  he  said,  and  there  was  utter 
despair  in  his  tone.  "She  is  probably  dead 
already." 

Sir  Reginald  took  him  by  the  arm.   His  face  held 


Devils'  Dice  317 

nought  but  kindliness,  which  he  made  no  attempt 
to  hide.  ' '  Sit  down  a  minute ! "  he  said.  ' '  Here's 
a  chair!  Just  a  minute.  Sit  down  and  get  your 
wind!  What  is  this  message?  May  I  read  it?" 

He  murmured  something  to  Major  Burton  who 
turned  sharply  and  went  out.  Monck  sank 
heavily  into  the  chair  and  leaned  upon  the  table, 
his  head  in  his  hands.  He  was  shaking  all  over,  as 
if  seized  with  an  ague. 

Sir  Reginald  read  the  message,  standing  beside 
him,  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "Stella  desper- 
ately ill.  Come.  Ralston, "  were  the  words  it 
contained. 

He  laid  the  paper  upon  the  table,  and  looked 
across  at  the  Colonel.  The  latter  nodded  slightly, 
almost  imperceptibly. 

Monck  spoke  without  moving.  "She  is  dead," 
he  said.  "My  God!  She  is  dead!"  And  then, 
under  his  breath,  "Atter  all, — counting  me  out — 
it's  best — it's  best.  I  couldn't  ask  for  anything 
better  at  this  devils'  game.  Someone's  got  to 
die." 

He  checked  himself  abruptly,  and  again  a 
terrible  shivering  seized  him. 

Sir  Reginald  bent  over  him.  "Pull  yourself 
together,  man!  You'll  need  all  your  strength. 
Please  God,  she'll  be  better  when  you  get  there!" 

Monck  raised  himself  with  a  slow,  blind  move- 
ment. "Did  you  ever  dice  with  the  devil?"  he 
said.  ' '  Stake  your  honour — stake  all  you'd  got — 
to  save  a  woman  from  hell?  And  then  lose — my 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

God — lose  all — even — even — the  woman?"  Again 
he  checked  himself.  "I'm  talking  like  a  damned 
fool.  Stop  me,  someone!  I've  come  through 
hell-fire  and  it's  scorched  away  my  senses.  I 
never  thought  I  should  blab  like  this." 

"It's  all  right,"  Sir  Reginald  said,  and  in  his 
voice  was  steady  reassurance.  "You're  with 
friends.  Get  a  hold  on  yourself!  Don't  say  any 
more!" 

"  Ah ! "  Monck  drew  a  deep  breath  and  seemed 
to  come  to  himself.  He  lifted  a  face  of  appalling 
whiteness  and  looked  at  Sir  Reginald.  "You're 
very  good,  sir, "  he  said.  "I  was  knocked  out  for 
the  moment.  I'm  all  right  now." 

He  made  as  if  he  would  rise,  but  Sir  Reginald 
checked  him.  "Wait  a  moment  longer!  Major 
Burton  will  be  back  directly." 

"  Major  Burton?  "  questioned  Monck. 

"I  sent  him  for  some  brandy  to  steady  your 
nerves,"  Sir  Reginald  said. 

"You're  very  good,"  Monck  said  again.  He 
leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  and  sat  silent. 

Major  Burton  returned  with  Tommy  hovering 
anxiously  behind  him.  The  boy  hesitated  a  little 
upon  entering,  but  the  Colonel  called  him  in. 

"You  had  better  see  the  message  too,"  he  said. 
"Your  sister  is  ill.  Captain  Monck  is  going  to 
her." 

Tommy  read  the  message  with  one  eye  upon 
Monck,  who  drank  the  brandy  Burton  brought 
and  in  a  moment  stood  up. 


Devfls'  Dice  319 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  made  such  a  fool  of  myself, 
sir/'  he  said  to  Sir  Reginald,  with  a  faint,  grim 
smile.  "I  shall  not  forget  your  kindness,  though 
I  hope  you  will  forget  my  idiocy." 

Sir  Reginald  looked  at  him  closely  for  a  second. 
His  grizzled  face  was  stern.  Yet  he  held  out  his 
hand. 

"Good-bye,  Captain  Monck!"  was  all  he  said. 

Monck  stiffened.  The  smile  passed  from  his 
face,  leaving  it  inscrutable,  granite-like  in  its 
composure.  It  was  as  the  donning  of  a  mask. 

"Good-bye,  sir!"  he  said  briefly,  as  he  shook 
hands. 

Tommy  moved  to  his  side  imp'tlsively.  He  did 
not  utter  a  word,  but  as  they  went  out  his  hand  was 
pushed  through  Monck's  arm  in  the  old  confidential 
fashion,  the  old  eager  affection  was  shining  in  his 
eyes. 

"He  has  one  staunch  friend,  anyhow,"  Sir 
Reginald  muttered  to  the  Colonel. 

"Yes,"  the  Colonel  answered  gravely.  "He 
has  done  a  good  deal  for  young  Denvers.  It's 
the  boy's  turn  to  make  good  now.  There  isn't 
much  left  him  besides." 

"Poor  devil!"  said  Sir  Reginald. 


CHAPTER  II 

OUT  OF  THE  DARKNESS 

"You  said  Everard  was  coming.  Why  doesn't 
he  come  ?  It's  very  dark — it's  very  dark !  Can  he 
have  missed  the  way?" 

Feebly,  haltingly,  the  words  seemed  to  wander 
through  the  room,  breaking  a  great  silence  as  it 
were  with  immense  effort.  Mrs.  Ralston  bent 
over  the  bed  and  whispered  hushingly  that  it  was 
all  right,  all  right,  Everard  would  be  there  soon. 

"But  why  does  he  take  so  long?"  murmured 
Stella.  "It's  getting  darker  every  minute.  And 
it's  so  steep.  I  keep  slipping — slipping.  I  know 
he  would  hold  me  up. "  And  then  after  a  moment, 
"Oh,  Maty,  am  I  dying?  I  believe  I  am.  But — 
he — wouldn't  let  me  die." 

Mrs.  Ralston's  hand  closed  comfortingly  upon 
hers.  "You're  quite  safe,  dearest,"  she  said. 
"Don't  be  afraid!" 

"But  it's  so  dreadfully  dark,"  Stella  said  rest- 
lessly. "I  shouldn't  mind  if  I  could  see  the  way. 
But  I  can't— I  can't." 

"Be  patient,  darling!"  said  Mrs.  Ralston  very 
tenderly.  "It  will  be  lighter  presently." 


Out  of  the  Darkness          321 

It  was  growing  very  late.  She  herself  was 
listening  for  every  sound,  hoping  against  hope  to 
hear  the  firm  quiet  step  of  the  man  who  alone 
could  still  her  charge's  growing  distress. 

"It  would  be  so  dreadful  to  miss  him,"  moaned 
Stella.  "I  have  waited  so  long.  Mary,  why 
don't  they  light  a  lamp?" 

A  shaded  lamp  was  burning  on  the  table  by 
the  bed.  Mrs.  Ralston  turned  and  lifted  the 
shade.  But  Stella  shook  her  head  with  a  weary 
discontent. 

"That  doesn't  help.  It's  in  the  desert  that  I 
mean — so  that  he  shan't  miss  me  when  he  comes." 

"He  cannot  miss  you,  darling,"  Mrs.  Ralston 
assured  her;  but  in  her  own  heart  she  doubted. 
For  the  doctor  had  told  her  that  he  did  not  think 
she  would  live  through  the  night. 

Again  she  strained  her  ears  to  listen.  She  had 
certainly  heard  a  sound  outside  the  door;  but  it 
might  be  only  Peter  who,  she  knew,  crouched 
there,  alert  for  any  service. 

It  was  Peter;  but  it  was  not  Peter  only,  for  even 
as  she  listened,  the  handle  of  the  door  turned 
softly  and  someone  entered.  She  looked  up  eagerly 
and  saw  the  doctor. 

He  was  a  thin,  grey  man  for  whom  she  enter- 
tained privately  a  certain  feeling  of  contempt. 
She  was  so  sure  her  own  husband  would  have 
somehow  managed  the  case  better.  He  came  to 
the  bedside,  and  looked  at  Stella,  looked  closely; 
then  turned  to  her  friend  watching  beside  her. 

a  i 


322       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

/ 

*4I  wonder  if  it  would  disturb  her  to  see  her 
husband  for  a  moment,"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Ralston  suppressed  a  start  with  difficulty. 
"'Is  he  here?"  she  whispered. 

" 'Just  arrived,"  he  murmured  back,  and  turned 
again  to  look  at  Stella  who  lay  motionless  with 
closed  eyes,  scarcely  seeming  to  breathe. 

Mrs.  Ralston 's  whisper  smote  the  silence,  and 
it  was  the  doctor's  turn  to  start.  "Send  him  in  at 
once!"  she  said. 

So  insistent  was  her  command  that  he  stood  up 
as  if  he  had  been  prodded  into  action.  Mrs.  Rals- 
ton was  on  her  feet.  She  waved  an  urgent  hand. 

"Go  and  get  him!"  she  ordered  almost  fiercely. 
"It's  the  only  chance  left.  Go  and  fetch  him !" 

He  looked  at  her  doubtfully  for  a  second,  then, 
impelled  by  an  authority  that  overrode  every 
scruple,  he  turned  in  silence  and  tiptoed  from  the 
room. 

Mrs.  Ralston's  eyes  followed  him  with  scorn. 
How  was  it  some  doctors  managed — notwith- 
standing all  their  experience — to  be  such  hopeless 
idiots? 

The  soft  opening  of  the  door  again  a  few  seconds 
later  banished  her  irritation.  She  turned  with 
shining  welcome  in  her  look,  and  met  Monck  with 
outstretched  hands. 

"You're  in  time,"  she  said. 

He  gripped  her  hands  hard,  but  he  scarcely 
looked  at  her.  In  a  moment  he  was  bending  over 
the  bed. 


Out  of  the  Darkness  323 

' '  Stella  girl !    Stella ! "  he  said. 

'"Everard!"  The  weak  voice  thrilled  like  a 
loosened  harp-string,  and  the  man's  dark  face 
flashed  into  sudden  passionate  tenderness. 

He  went  down  upon  his  knees  beside  the  bed 
and  gathered  her  to  his  breast.  She  clung  to 
.him  feebly,  her  lips  turned  to  his. 

"My  darling — oh,  my  darling — have  you  come 
:at  last?"  she  whispered.  "Hold  me — hold  me! — 
Don't  let  me  die ! " 

He  held  her  closer  and  closer  to  his  heart,  so 
that  its  fierce  throbbing  beat  against  her  own. 
"You  shan't  die,"  he  said,  "you  can't  die — with 
me  here." 

She  laughed  a  little,  sobbingly.  "You  saved 
Tommy — twice  over.  I  knew  you  would  save  me 
— if  you  came  in  time.  Oh,  darling,  how  I  have 
wanted  you!  It's  been — so  dark  and  terrible." 

"But  you  held  on!"  Monck's  voice  was  very 
low;  it  came  with  a  manifest  effort.  He  was 
holding  her  to  his  breast  as  if  he  could  never  let 
Tier  go. 

"Yes,  I  held  on.  I  knew — I  knew — how — how 
it  would  hurt  you — to  find  me  gone."  Her 
trembling  hands  moved  fondly  about  his  head 
and  finally  clasped  his  neck.  "It's  all  right  now, " 
she  said,  with  a  sigh  of  deep  content. 

Monck's  lips  pressed  hers  again  and  again,  and 
Mrs.  Ralston  went  away  to  the  window  to  hide 
her  tears.  "Please,  God,  don't  separate  them 
now ! ' '  she  whispered. 


3*4       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

It  was  many  minutes  later  that  Stella  spoke 
again,  softly,  into  Monck's  ear.  "Everard — 
darling  husband — the  baby — our  baby — don't 
you — wouldn't  you  like  to  see  it?" 

"The  baby!"  He  spoke  as  if  startled.  Some- 
how he  had  concluded  from  the  first  that  the  baby 
would  be  dead,  and  the  rapture  of  finding  her  still 
living  had  driven  the  thought  of  everything  else 
from  his  mind. 

"Don't  move!"  whispered  Stella,  clasping  him 
closer.  ' '  Ask  them  to  bring  it ! " 

He  spoke  over  his  shoulder  to  Mrs.  Ralston,  his 
voice  oddly  cold,  almost  reluctant.  "Would  you 
be  good  enough  to  bring  the  baby  in? " 

She  turned  at  once,  smiling  upon  him  shakily. 
But  his  dark  face  remained  wholly  inscrutable, 
wholly  unresponsive.  There  was  something  about 
him  that  smote  her  with  a  curious  chill,  but  she 
told  herself  that  he  was  worn  out  with  hard  travel 
and  anxiety  as  she  went  from  the  room  to  comply 
with  his  curt  request. 

Lying  against  his  shoulder,  Stella  whispered  a 
few  halting  sentences.  "It — happened  so  sud- 
denly. The  Rajah  drives  so  fiercely — like  a  man 
possessed.  And  the  car  skidded  on  the  hill. 
Netta  Ermsted  was  in  it,  and  she  screamed,  and 
I — I  was  terrified  because  Tessa — Tessa — brave 
mite — sprang  in  front  of  me.  I  don't  know  what 
she  thought  she  could  do.  I  think  partly  she  was 
angry,  and  lost  her  head.  And  she  meant — to 
help — to  protect  me — somehow.  After  that,  I 


Out  of  the  Darkness  525 

feinted — and  when  I  came  round,  they  had 
brought  me  back  here.  That  was  ever  so  long 
ago."  She  shuddered  convulsively.  "I've  been 
through  a  lot  since  then." 

Monck's  teeth  closed  upon  his  lip.  He  had  not 
suspected  an  accident. 

Tremulously  Stella  went  on.  "It — was  so 
much  too  soon.  I  was — dreadfully — afraid  for 
the  poor  wee  baby.  But  the  doctor  said — the 
-doctor  said — it  was  all  right — only  small.  And 
>oh,  Everard — "  her  voice  thrilled  again  with  a 
quivering  joy — "it  is  a  boy.  I  so  wanted — a  son 
— for  you." 

"God  bless  you!"  he  said  almost  inarticulately, 
and  kissed  her  white  face  again  burningly,  even 
with  violence.  She  smiled  at  his  intensity,  though 
it  made  her  gasp.  "I  know — I  know — you  will 
be  great,"  she  said.  "And — your  son — must 
carry  on  your  greatness.  He  shall  learn  to  love — 
the  Empire — as  you  do.  We  will  teach  him 
together — you  and  I." 

"Ah!"  Monck  said,  and  drew  the  hard  breath 
of  a  man  struggling  in  deep  waters. 

Mrs.  Ralston  returned  softly  with  a  white 
bundle  in  her  arms,  and  Stella's  hold  relaxed. 
Her  heavy  lids  brightened  eagerly. 

"My  dear, "  Mrs.  Ralston  said,  "the  doctor  has 
commanded  me  to  turn  your  husband  out  immedi- 
ately. He  must  just  peep  at  the  darling  baby 
and  go." 

"Tell   him    to    go    himself — to    blazes!"    said 


326       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Monck  forcibly,  and  then  reached  up,  still  curi- 
ously grim  to  Mrs.  Ralston's  observing  eyes, 
and,  without  rising  from  his  knees,  took  his  child 
into  his  arms. 

He  laid  it  against  the  mother's  breast,  and 
tenderly  uncovered  the  tiny,  sleeping  face. 

"Oh,  Everard!"  she  said. 

And  Mrs.  Ralston  turned  away  with  a  little 
sob.  She  did  not  believe  any  longer  that  Stella 
would  die.  The  sweet,  thrilling  happiness  of 
her  voice  seemed  somehow  to  drive  out  the  very 
thought  of  death.  She  had  never  in  her  life  seen 
any  one  so  supremely  happy.  But  yet — though 
she  was  reassured — there  was  something  else  in 
the  atmosphere  that  disturbed  her.  She  could 
not  have  said  wherefore,  but  she  was  sorry  for 
Monck — deeply,  poignantly  sorry.  She  was  cer- 
tain, with  that  inner  conviction  that  needs  no> 
outer  evidence,  that  it  was  more  than  weariness 
and  the  strain  of  anxiety  that  had  drawn  those 
deep  lines  about  his  eyes  and  mouth.  He  looked 
to  her  like  a  man  who  had  been  smitten  down  in 
the  pride  of  his  strength,  and  who  knew  his  case 
to  be  hopeless. 

As  for  Monck,  he  went  through  his  ordeal  un- 
flinching, suffering  as  few  men  are  called  upon  to- 
suffer  and  hiding  it  away  without  a  quiver.  All 
through  the  hours  of  his  journeying,  he  had  been 
prepared  to  face — he  had  actually  expected — the 
worst.  All  through  those  hours  he  had  battled 
to  reach  her  indeed,  straining  every  faculty,  re- 


Out  of  the  Darkness          327 

sisting  with  almost  superhuman  strength  every 
obstacle  that  arose  to  bar  his  progress.  But  he 
had  not  thought  to  find  her,  and  throughout  the 
long-drawn-out  effort  he  had  carried  in  his  locked 
heart  the  knowledge  that  if  when  he  came  at  last 
to  her  bedside  he  found  her — this  woman  whom 
he  loved  with  all  the  force  of  his  silent  soul — white 
and  cold  in  death,  it  would  be  the  best  fate  that  he 
could  wish  her,  the  best  thing  that  could  possibly 
happen,  so  far  as  mortal  sight  could  judge,  fof 
either. 

But  so  it  had  not  been.  At  the  very  Gate  of 
Death  she  had  waited  for  his  coming,  and  now  he 
knew  in  his  heart  that  she  would  return.  The 
love  between  them  was  drawing  her,  and  the  man's 
heart  in  him  battled  fiercely  to  rejoice  even  while 
wrung  with  the  anguish  of  that  secret  know- 
ledge. 

He  hardly  knew  how  he  went  through  those 
moments  which  to  her  were  such  pure  ecstasy. 
The  blood  was  beating  wildly  in  his  brain,  and  he 
thought  of  that  devils'  tattoo  on  the  roof  at 
Udalkhand  when  first  that  dreadful  knowledge 
had  sprung  upon  him  like  an  evil  thing  out  of  the 
night.  But  he  held  himself  in  an  iron  grip;  he 
forced  his  mind  to  clearness.  Even  to  himself  he 
would  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  the  agony  that  tore 
him. 

They  whispered  together  for  a  while  over  the 
baby's  head,  but  he  never  remembered  afterwards 
what  passed  or  how  long  he  knelt  there.  Only  at 


328       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

last  there  came  a  silence  that  drifted  on  and  cm 
and  he  knew  that  Stella  was  asleep. 

Later  Mrs.  Ralston  stooped  over  him  and  took 
the  baby  away,  and  he  laid  his  head  down  upon  the 
pillow  by  Stella's  and  wished  with  all  his  soul  that 
the  Gate  before  which  her  feet  had  halted  would 
open  to  them  both. 

Someone  came  up  behind  them,  and  stood  for  a 
few  seconds  looking  down  upon  them.  He  was 
aware  of  a  presence,  but  he  knelt  on  without  stir- 
ring— as  one  kneeling  entranced  in  a  sacred  place. 
Then  two  hands  he  knew  grasped  him  firmly  by 
the  shoulders,  raising  him;  he  looked  up  half- 
dazed  into  his  brother's  face. 

"Come  along,  old  chap!"  Bernard  whispered, 
"You  mustn't  faint  in  here." 

The  words  roused  him.  The  old  sardonic 
smile  showed  for  a  moment  about  his  lips.  He 
faint!  But  he  had  not  slept  for  two  nights. 
That  would  account  for  that  curious  top-heavy 
feeling  that  possessed  him.  He  suffered  Bernard 
to  help  him  up, — good  old  Bernard  who  had 
watched  over  him  like  a  mother  refusing  flatty 
to  remain  behind,  waiting  upon  him  hand  and 
foot  at  every  turn. 

"You  come  into  the  next  room!"  he  whispered. 
"You  shall  be  called  immediately  if  she  wakes 
and  wants  you.  But  you'll  crumple  up  if  you  don 't 
rest." 

There  was  truth  in  the  words.  Everard  realized 
it  as  he  went  from  the  room,  leaning  blindly  upon 


Out  of  the  Darkness          329 

the  stout,  supporting  arm.  His  weariness  hung 
upon  him  like  an  overwhelming  weight. 

He  submitted  himself  almost  mechanically  to 
his  brother's  ordering,  feeling  as  if  he  moved  in  a 
dream.  As  in  a  dream  also  he  saw  Peter  at  the 
door  move,  noiseless  as  a  shadow,  to  assist  him  on 
the  other  side.  And  he  tried  to  laugh  off  his 
weakness,  but  the  laugh  stuck  in  his  throat. 

Then  he  found  himself  in  a  chair  drinking  a 
stiff  mixture  of  brandy  and  water,  again  at  Ber- 
nard's behest,  while  Bernard  stood  over  him, 
watching  with  the  utmost  kindness  in  his  blue 
eyes. 

The  spirit  steadied  him.  He  came  to  himself, 
sat  up  slowly,  and  motioned  Peter  from  the  room. 
He  was  his  own  master  again.  He  turned  to  his 
brother  with  a  smile. 

"You're  a  friend  in  need,  St.  Bernard.  That 
dose  has  done  me  good.  Open  the  window,  old 
fellow,  will  you?  Let's  have  some  air!" 

Bernard  flung  the  window  wide,  and  the  warm 
wet  air  blew  in  laden  with  the  fragrance  of  the 
teeming  earth.  Everard  turned  his  face  to  it, 
drawing  in  great  breaths.  The  dawn  was  breaking. 

"She  is  better?"  Bernard  questioned,  after  a 
few  moments. 

"Yes,  I  believe  she  has  turned  the  corner." 
Everard  spoke  without  turning.  His  eyes  were 
fixed. 

"Thank  God!"  said  Bernard  gently. 

Bverard's  right  hand  made  a  curious  move- 


330       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

ment.  It  was  as  if  it  closed  upon  a  weapon. 
"You  can  do  that  part,"  he  said,  and  he  spoke 
with  constraint.  "But  you'd  do  it  in  any  case. 
It's  a  way  you've  got.  See  the  light  breaking, 
over  there?  It's  like  a  sword — turning  all  ways." 
He  rose  with  an  obvious  effort  and  passed  his  hand 
across  his  eyes.  "What  of  you,  man?"  he  said. 
"Have  they  been  looking  after  you?" 

"Oh,  never  mind  me!"  Bernard  rejoined. 
"Have  something  to  eat  and  turn  in!  Yes,  of 
course  I'll  join  you  with  pleasure."  He  clapped 
an  affectionate  hand  upon  his  brother's  shoulder. 
"It's  a  boy,  I'm  told.  Old  fellow,  I  congratulate 
you — may  he  be  a  blessing  to  you  all  your  lives! 
I'll  drink  his  health  if  it  isn't  too  early." 

Everard  broke  into  a  brief,  discordant  laugh. 
"You'd  better  go  to  church,  St.  Bernard,"  he 
said,  ' '  and  pray  for  us ! " 

He  swung  away  abruptly  with  the  words  and 
crossed  the  room.  The  crystal-clear  rays  of  the 
new  day  smote  full  upon  him  as  he  moved,  and 
Bernard  saw  for  the  first  time  that  his  hair  was 
itreaked  with  grey. 


CHAPTER  III 

PRINCESS   BLUEBELL 

To  Bernard,  sprawling  at  his  ease  with  a  pipe 
on  the  verandah  some  hours  later,  the  appearance 
of  a  small  girl  with  bare  brown  legs  and  a  very 
abbreviated  white  muslin  frock,  hugging  an 
unwilling  mongoose  to  her  breast,  came  as  a  sur- 
prise; for  she  entered  as  one  who  belonged  to  the 
establishment. 

"Who  are  you,  please?"  she  demanded  im- 
periously, halting  before  him  while  she  disentangled 
the  unfortunate  Scooter's  rebellious  legs  from  her 
hair. 

Bernard  sat  up  and  removed  his  pipe.  Meeting 
eyes  of  the  darkest,  intensest  blue  that  he  had  ever 
seen,  he  gave  her  appropriate  greeting. 

"Good  morning,  Princess  Bluebell!  I  am  a 
humble,  homeless  beggar,  at  present  living  upon 
the  charity  of  my  brother,  Captain  Monck." 

She  came  a  step  nearer.  "Why  do  you  call  me 
that?  You  are  not  Captain  Monck's  brother 
really,  are  you?" 

He  spread  out  his  hands  with  a  deprecating 
gesture.  "I  never  contradict  royal  ladies,  Prin- 

331 


332       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

cess,  but  I  have  always  been  taught  to  believe  so." 

1  '  Why  do  you  call  me  Princess  ?  '  '  she  asked,  hal  - 
ing  between  suspicion  and  gratification. 

"Because  it  is  quite  evident  that  you  are  one. 
There  is  a  —  bossiness  about  you  that  proclaims 
the  fact  aloud."  Bernard  smiled  upon  her  —  the 
smile  of  open  goodfellowship.  "Beggars  always 
know  princesses  when  they  see  them,"  he  said. 

She  scrutinized  him  severely  for  a  moment  or 
two,  then  suddenly  melted  into  a  gleaming,  re- 
sponsive smile  that  illuminated  her  little  pale  face 
Hke  a  shaft  of  sunlight.  She  came  close  to  him, 
and  very  graciously  proffered  Scooter  for  a  caress. 
"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  him.  He  doesn't 
bite,"  she  said. 

"I  suppose  he  is  a  bewitched  prince,  is  he?" 
asked  Bernard,  as  he  stroked  the  furry  little 


The  great  blue  eyes  were  still  fixed  upon  him. 
"No,"  said  Tessa,  after  a  thoughtful  moment  or 
two.  "He's  only  a  mongoose.  But  I  think  yon 
are  a  bewitched  prince.  You're  so  big.  And 
they  always  pretend  to  be  beggars  too,"  she 
added. 

"And  the  princesses  always  fall  in  love  with 
them  before  they  find  out,"  said  Bernard,  looking 
quizzical. 

Tessa  frowned  a  little.  "I  don't  think  falling 
in  love  is  a  very  nice  game,"  she  said.  "I've 
seen  a  lot  of  it." 

"Have  you  indeed?"  Bernard's  eyes  screwed 


Princess  Bluebell  333 

up  for  a  moment,  but  were  hastily  restored  to  an 
expression  of  becoming  gravity.  "I  don't  know 
much  about  it  myself,"  he  said.  "You  see,  I'm 
an  old  bachelor." 

"Haven't  you — ever — been  in  love?"  asked 
Tessa  incredulously. 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  "Yes,  I'm  in 
love  at  the  present  moment — quite  the  worst  sort 
too — love  at  first  sight." 

"You  are  rather  old,  aren't  you?"  said  Tessa 
dispassionately,  but  she  laid  her  hand  in  his 
notwithstanding. 

"Quite  old  enough  to  be  kissed,"  he  assured 
her,  drawing  her  gently  to  him.  "Shall  I  tell 
you  a  secret?  I'm  rather  fond  of  kissing  little 
girls." 

Tessa  went  into  the  circle  of  his  arm  with 
complete  confidence.  "I  don't  mind  kissing 
white  men,"  she  said,  and  held  up  her  red  lips, 
"But  I  wouldn't  kiss  an  Indian — not  even  Peter, 
and  he's  a  darling." 

"A  very  wise  rule,  Princess,"  said  Bernard. 
"And  I  feel  duly  honoured." 

"How  is  my  darling  Aunt  Stella  this  morning?" 
demanded  Tessa  suddenly.  "You  made  me  for- 
get. Ayah  said  she  would  be  all  right,  but  Ayah 
says  just  anything.  Is  she  all  right?" 

"She  is  better,"  Bernard  said.  "But  wait  a 
minute!"  He  caught  her  arm  as  she  made  an 
impetuous  movement  to  leave  him .  "I  believe  she's 
asleep  just  now.  You  don't  want  to  wake  her?" 


334       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Tessa  turned  upon  him  swiftly — wide  horror  in 
her  eyes.  "Is  that  your  way  of  telling  me  she  is 
dead?"  she  said  in  a  whisper. 

"No,  no,  child!"  Bernard's  reply  came  with 
instant  reassurance.  "But  she  has  been — she 
still  is — ill.  She  was  upset,  you  know.  Someone 
in  a  car  startled  her." 

"I  know  I  was  there."  Tessa  came  close 
to  him  again,  speaking  in  a  tense  undertone;  her 
eyes  gleamed  almost  black.  "It  was  the  Rajah 
that  frightened  her  so — the  Rajah — and  my 
mother.  I'm  never  going  to  ask  God  to  bless  her 
again.  I — hate  her!  And  him  too!" 

There  was  such  concentrated  vindictiveness  in 
her  words  that  even  Bernard,  who  had  looked 
upon  many  bitter  things,  was  momentarily 
startled. 

"I  think  God  would  be  rather  sorry  to  hear  you 
say  that,"  he  remarked,  after  a  moment.  "He 
likes  little  girls  to  pray  for  their  mothers." 

"I  don't  see  why,"  said  Tessa  rebelliously, 
"not  if  He  hasn't  given  them  good  ones.  Mine 
isn't  good.  She's  very,  very  bad." 

"Then  there's  all  the  more  reason  to  pray  for 
her,"  said  Bernard.  "It's  the  least  you  can  do. 
But  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  say  that  of  your 
mother,  you  know,  even  if  you  think  it.  It  isn't 
loyal." 

"What's  loyal?"  said  Tessa. 

"Loyalty  is  being  true  to  any  one — not  telling 
tales  about  them.  It's  about  the  only  thing  I 


Princess  Bluebell  335 

learnt  at  school  worth  knowing."  Bernard  smiled 
at  her  in  his  large  way.  "Never  tell  tales  of  any 
one,  Princess!"  he  said.  "It  isn't  cricket.  Now 
look  here !  I '  ve  an  awfully  interesting  piece  of  news 
for  you.  Come  quite  close,  and  I'll  whisper.  Do 
you  know — last  night — when  Aunt  Stella  was  lying 
ill,  something  happened.  An  angel  came  to  see 
her." 

"An  angel!"  Tessa's  eyes  grew  round  with 
wonder,  and  bluer  than  the  bluest  bluebell. 
"What  was  he  like?"  she  whispered  breathlessly. 
"Did  you  see  him?" 

"No,  I  didn't.  I  think  it  was  a  she,"  Bernard 
whispered  back.  "And  what  do  you  think  she 
brought?  But  you'll  never  guess." 

"Oh,  what?"  gasped  Tessa,  trembling. 

Bernard's  arm  slipped  round  her,  and  Scooter 
with  a  sudden  violent  effort  freed  himself,  and  was 
gone. 

"Never  mind!  I  can  get  him  again, "  said  Tessa. 
4 '  Or  Peter  will.  Tell  me — quick ! ' ' 

"She  brought — "  Bernard  was  speaking  softly 
into  her  ear — "a  little  boy-baby.  Think  of  that! 
A  present  straight  from  God!" 

"Oh,  how  lovely!"  Tessa  gazed  at  him  with 
shining  eyes.  "Is  it  here  now?  May  I  see  it? 
Is  the  angel  still  here?" 

"No,  the  angel  has  gone.  But  the  baby  is 
left.  It  is  Stella's  very  own,  and  she  is  to  take 
care  of  it." 

"Oh,  I  hope  she'll  let  me  help  her!"  murmured 


336       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Tessa  in  awe-struck  accents.  "Does  Uncle  Ever- 
ard  know  yet?" 

"Yes.  He  and  I  got  here  in  the  night  two  or 
three  hours  after  the  baby  arrived.  He  was  very 
tired,  poor  chap.  He  is  resting." 

"And  the  baby?"  breathed  Tessa. 

"Mrs.  Ralston  is  taking  care  of  the  baby.  I 
expect  it's  asleep, "  said  Bernard.  "So  well  keep 
very  quiet." 

"But  she'll  let  me  see  it,  won't  she?"  said  Tessa 
anxiously. 

"No  doubt  she  will,  Princess.  But  I  shouldn't 
disturb  them  yet.  It's  early  you  know." 

"Mightn't  I  just  go  in  and  kiss  Uncle  Everard?" 
pleaded  Tessa.  "I  love  him  so  very  much.  I'm 
sure  he  wouldn't  mind." 

"Let  him  rest  a  bit  longer!"  advised  Bernard. 
"He  is  worn  out.  Sit  down  here,  on  the  arm  of 
my  chair,  and  tell  me  about  yourself!  Where 
have  you  come  from  ? ' ' 

Tessa  jerked  her  head  sideways.  ' '  Down  there. 
We  live  at  The  Grand  Stand.  We've  been  there 
a  long  time  now,  nearly  ever  since  Daddy  went 
away.  He's  in  Heaven.  A  budmash  shot  him  in 
the  jungle.  Mother  made  a  great  fuss  about  it  at 
the  time,  but  she  doesn't  care  now  she  can  go 
motoring  with  the  Rajah.  He  is  a  nasty  beast," 
said  Tessa  with  emphasis.  "I  always  did  hate 
him.  And  he  frightened  my  darling  Aunt  Stella 
at  the  gate  yesterday.  I — could  have — killed 
him  for  it " 


Princess  Bluebell  337 

•'What  did  he  do?"  asked  Bernard. 

4'I  don't  know  quite;  but  the  car  twisted  round 
on  the  hill,  and  Aunt  Stella  thought  it  was  going 
to  upset.  I  tried  to  take  care  of  her,  but  we  were 
both  nearly  run  over.  He's  a  horrid  man!" 
Tessa  declared.  4 '  He  caught  hold  of  me  the  other 
day  because  I  got  between  him  and  Mother  when 
they  were  sitting  smoking  together.  And  I  bit 
him."  Vindictive  satisfaction  sounded  in  Tessa's 
voice.  "I  bit  him  hard.  He  soon  let  go  again." 

"Wasn't  he  angry  ? "  asked  Bernard. 

"Oh,  yes,  very  angry.  So  was  Mother.  She 
told  him  he  might  whip  me  if  he  liked.  Fancy 
being  whipped  by  a  native!"  High  scorn  thrilled 
in  the  words.  "But  he  didn't.  He  laughed  in  his 
slithery  way  and  showed  his  teeth  like  a  jackal  and 
said — and  said — I  was  too  pretty  to  be  whipped." 
Tessa  ground  her  teeth  upon  the  memory.  It  was 
evidently  even  more  humiliating  than  the  suggested 
punishment.  "And  then  he  kissed  me — he  kissed 
me — "  she  shuddered  at  the  nauseating  recollec- 
tion— -"and  let  me  go." 

Bernard  was  listening  attentively.  His  eyes 
were  less  kindly  than  usual.  They  had  a  steely 
look.  "I  should  keep  out  of  his  way,  if  I  were 
you,"  he  said. 

"I  will— I  do!"  declared  Tessa.  "But  I  do 
hate  the  way  he  goes  on  with  Mother.  He'd 
never  have  dared  if  Daddy  had  been  here." 

"He  is  evidently  a  bounder,"  said  Bernard. 

They  sat  for  some  time  on  the  verandah,  grow- 


33#       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

ing  pleasantly  intimate,  till  presently  Peter  came 
out  with  an  early  breakfast  for  Bernard.  He 
invited  Tessa  to  join  him,  which  she  consented 
to  do  with  alacrity. 

"We  must  find  Scooter  afterwards,"  she  said, 
as  she  proudly  poured  out  his  coffee.  "And  then 
perhaps,  if  I  keep  good,  Aunt  Mary  will  let  me 
see  the  baby." 

"Wonder  if  you  will  manage  to  keep  good  till 
then, "  observed  a  voice  behind  them. 

She  turned  with  a  squeak  of  delight  and  sprang 
to  meet  Everard. 

He  was  looking  haggard  in  the  morning  light, 
but  he  smiled  upon  her  in  a  way  she  had  never 
seen  before,  and  he  stooped  and  kissed  her  with  a 
tenderness  that  amazed  her. 

' '  Stella  tells  me  you  were  very  brave  yesterday, ' ' 
he  said. 

' '  Was  I  ?  When  ? ' '  Tessa  opened  her  blue  eyes 
to  their  widest  extent.  ' '  Oh,  I  was  only — angry, " 
she  said  then.  "Darling  Aunt  Stella  was  fright- 
ened." 

He  patted  her  shoulder.  "You  meant  to  take 
care  of  her,  so  I'm  grateful  all  the  same, "  he  said. 

Tessa  clung  to  his  arm.  "I'd  like  to  come  and 
take  care  of  her  always, "  she  said,  rather  wistfully. 
"I  can  easily  be  spared,  Uncle  Everard.  And 
I'm  really  not  nearly  so  naughty  as  I  used  to  be." 

He  smiled  at  the  words,  but  did  not  respond 
"Where's  Scooter?"  he  said. 

They  spent  some  time  hunting  for  him,  but  i » 


Princess  Bluebell  339 

was  left  to  Peter  finally  to  unearth  him,  for  in  the 
middle  of  the  search  Mrs.  Ralston  came  softly 
out  upon  the  verandah  with  the  baby  in  her  arms, 
and  at  once  all  Tessa's  thoughts  were  centred  upon 
the  new  arrival.  She  had  never  before  seen  any- 
thing so  tiny,  so  red,  or  so  utterly  beautiful ! 

Bernard  left  his  breakfast  to  join  the  circle  of 
admirers,  and  when  the  doctor  arrived  a  few 
minutes  later  he  was  in  triumphant  possession  of 
the  small  bundle  that  held  them  all  spellbound. 
He  knew  how  to  handle  a  baby,  and  was  extremely 
proud  of  the  accomplishment. 

It  was  not  till  two  days  later,  however,  that  he 
was  admitted  to  see  the  mother.  She  had  turned 
the  corner,  they  said,  but  she  was  terribly  weak. 
Yet,  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  the  presence  of  her 
brother-in-law,  she  insisted  upon  seeing  him. 

Everard  brought  him  in  to  her,  but  for  the  first 
time  in  her  life  she  dismissed  him  when  the  intro- 
duction was  effected. 

"We  shall  get  on  better  alone, "  she  said,  with  a 
smile.  "You  come  back — afterwards." 

So  Everard  withdrew,  and  Bernard  sat  down  by 
her  side,  his  big  hand  holding  hers. 

"That  is  nice,"  she  said,  her  pale  face  turned 
to  him.  "I  have  been  wanting  to  know  you  ever 
since  Everard  first  told  me  of  you." 

He  bent  with  a  little  smile  and  kissed  the  slender 
fingers  he  held.  "Then  the  desire  has  been 
mutual, "  he  said. 

"Thank  you."     Stella's  eyes  were  fixed  upon 


340       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

his  face.  "I  was  afraid,"  she  said,  with  slight 
hesitation,  "that  you  might  think — when  you  saw 
Everard — that  marriage  hadn't  altogether  agreed 
with  him." 

Bernard's  kindly  blue  eyes  met  hers  with 
absolute  directness.  "No,  I  shouldn't  have 
thought  that,"  he  said.  "But  I  see  a  change  in 
him  of  course.  He  is  growing  old  much  too  fast. 
What  is  it  ?  Overwork  ? ' ' 

"I  don't  know."  She  still  spoke  with  hesita- 
tion. ' '  I  think  it  is  a  good  deal — anxiety." 

"Ah!"  Bernard's  hand  closed  very  strongly 
upon  hers.  "He  is  not  the  only  person  that 
suffers  from  that  complaint,  I  think." 

She  smiled  rather  wanly.  "I  ought  not  to 
worry.  It's  wrong,  isn't  it?" 

"It's  unnecessary,"  he  said.  "And  it's  a 
handicap  to  progress.  But  it's  difficult  not  to 
when  things  go  wrong,  I  admit.  We  need  to 
keep  a  very  tight  hold  on  faith.  And  even  then 


"Yes,  even  then — "  Stella  said,  her  lips  quiver- 
ing a  little — "when  the  one  beloved  is  in  danger, 
who  can  be  untroubled?" 

"We  are  all  in  the  same  keeping, "  said  Bernard 
gently.  "I  think  that's  worth  remembering.  If 
we  can  trust  ourselves  to  God,  we  ought  to  be  able 
to  trust  even  the  one  beloved  to  His  care," 

Stella's  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  "I  am  afraid 
I  don't  know  Him  well  enough  to  trust  Him  like 
that,"  she  said. 


Princess  Bluebell  341 

Bernard  leant  towards  her.  "My  dear,"  he 
said,  "it  is  only  by  faith  that  you  can  ever  come  to 
knowledge.  You  have  to  trust  without  definitely 
knowing.  Knowledge — that  inner  certainty — 
comes  afterwards,  always  afterwards.  You  can't 
get  it  for  yourself.  You  can  only  pray  for  it,  and 
prepare  the  ground." 

Her  fingers  pressed  his  feebly.  "I  wonder," 
she  said,  "if  you  have  ever  known  what  it  was  to 
walk  in  darkness." 

Bernard  smiled.  "Yes,  I  have  floundered 
pretty  deep  in  my  time, "  he  said.  "There's  only 
one  thing  for  it,  you  know;  just  to  keep  on  till  the 
light  comes.  You'll  find,  when  the  lamp  shines 
across  the  desert  at  last,  that  you're  not  so  far  out 
of  the  track  after  all — if  you're  only  keeping  on. 
That's  the  main  thing  to  remember." 

"Ah!"  Stella  sighed.  "I  believe  you  could 
help  me  a  lot." 

"Delighted  to  try,"  said  Bernard. 

But  she  shook  her  head.  "No,  not  now,  not 
yet.  I  want  you — to  take  care  of  Everard  for 
me." 

"Can't  he  take  care  of  himself?"  questioned 
Bernard.  "I  thought  I  had  taught  him  to  be 
fairly  independent." 

"Oh,  it  isn't  that,"  she  said.  "It  is— it  is—- 
India." 

He  leaned  nearer  to  her,  the  smile  gone  from  his 
eyes.  "I  thought  so,"  he  said.  "You  needn't 
be  afraid  to  speak  out  to  me.  I  am  discretion 


34s       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

itself,   especially  where  he  is  concerned.     What 
has  India  been  doing  to  him?" 

With  a  faint  gesture  she  motioned  him  nearer 
still.  Her  face  was  very  pale,  but  resolution  was 
shining  in  her  eyes.  "Don't  let  us  be  disturbed!" 
she  whispered.  "And  I — I  will  tell  you — all  I 
know." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SERPENT  IN  THE  DESERT 

THE  battalion  was  ordered  back  to  Kurrumpore 
for  the  winter  months,  ostensibly  to  go  into  a 
camp  of  exercise,  though  whispers  of  some  deeper 
motive  for  the  move  were  occasionally  heard. 
Markestan,  though  outwardly  calm  and  well- 
behaved,  was  not  regarded  with  any  great  con- 
fidence by  the  Government,  so  it  was  said,  though, 
officially,  no  one  had  the  smallest  suspicion  of 
danger. 

It  was  with  mixed  feelings  that  Stella  returned 
at  length  to  The  Green  Bungalow,  nearly  three 
months  after  her  baby's  birth.  During  that  time 
she  had  seen  a  good  deal  of  her  brother-in-law, 
who,  nothing  daunted  by  the  discomforts  of  the 
journey,  went  to  and  fro  several  times  between 
Bhulwana  and  the  Plains.  They  had  become  close 
friends,  and  Stella  had  grown  to  regard  his  presence 
as  a  safeguard  and  protection  against  the  nameless 
evils  that  surrounded  Everard,  though  she  could 
not  have  said  wherefore. 

He  it  was  who,  with  Peter's  help,  prepared  the 
bungalow  for  her  coming.  It  had  been  standing 

343 


344      The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

empty  all  through  the  hot  weather  and  the  rains. 
The  compound  was  a  mass  of  overgrown  verdure, 
and  the  bungalow  itself  was  in  some  places  thick 
with  fungus. 

When  Stella  came  to  it,  however,  all  the  most 
noticeable  traces  of  neglect  had  been  removed. 
The  place  was  scrubbed  clean.  The  ragged  roses 
had  been  trained  along  the  verandah-trellis,  and 
fresh  Indian  matting  had  been  laid  down  every- 
where 

The  garden  was  still  a  wilderness,  but  Bernard 
declared  that  he  would  have  it  in  order  before 
many  weeks  had  passed.  It  was  curious  how, 
with  his  very  limited  knowledge  of  natives  and 
their  ways,  he  managed  to  extract  the  most 
willing  labour  from  them.  Peter  the  Great  smiled 
with  gratified  pride  whenever  he  gave  him  an 
order,  and  all  the  other  servants  seemed  to  enter- 
tain a  similar  veneration  for  the  big,  blue-eyed 
sahib  who  was  never  heard  to  speak  in  anger 
or  impatience,  and  yet  whose  word  was  one  which 
somehow  no  one  found  it  possible  to  disregard. 

Tommy  had  become  fond  of  him  also.  He  was 
wont  to  say  that  Bernard  was  the  most  likable 
fellow  he  had  ever  met.  An  indefinable  barrier 
had  grown  up  between  him  and  his  brother-in- 
law,  which,  desperately  though  he  had  striven 
against  it,  had  made  the  old  easy  intercourse  im- 
possible. Bernard  was  in  a  fashion  the  link 
between  them.  Strangely  they  were  always  more 
intimate  in  his  presence  than  when  alone,  less 


The  Serpent  in  the  Desert     345 

conscious  of  unknown  ground,  of  reserves  that 
could  not  be  broached. 

Strive  as  he  might,  Tommy  could  not  forget 
that  evening  at  the  mess — the  historic  occasion 
as  he  had  lightly  named  it — when  like  an  evil 
magic  at  work  he  had  witnessed  the  smirching 
of  his  hero's  honour.  He  had  sought  to  bury  the 
matter  deep,  to  thrust  it  out  of  all  remembrance, 
but  the  evil  wrought  was  too  subtle  and  too  potent. 
It  reared  itself  against  him  and  would  not  be 
trampled  down. 

Had  any  of  his  brother-officers  dared  to  men- 
tion the  affair  to  him,  he  would  have  been  furious, 
would  strenuously  have  defended  that  which  ap- 
parently his  friend  did  not  deem  it  worth  his 
while  to  defend.  But  no  one  ever  spoke  of  it. 
It  dwelt  among  them,  a  shameful  thing,  ignored 
yet  ever  present. 

Everard  came  and  went  as  before,  only  more 
reticent,  more  grim,  more  unapproachable  than 
he  had  ever  been  in  the  old  days.  His  utter 
indifference  to  the  cold  courtesy  accorded  him 
was  beyond  all  scorn.  He  simply  did  not  see 
when  men  avoided  him.  He  was  supremely  un- 
aware of  the  coldness  that  made  Tommy  writhe 
in  impotent  rebellion.  He  had  never  mixed  very 
freely  with  his  fellows.  Upon  Tommy  alone  had 
he  bestowed  his  actual  friendship,  and  to  Tommy 
alone  did  he  now  display  any  definite  change  of 
front.  His  demeanour  towards  the  boy  was 
curiously  gentle.  He  never  treated  him  con- 


346       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

fidentially  or  spoke  of  intimate  things.  That 
invincible  barrier  which  Tommy  strove  so  hard 
to  ignore,  he  seemed  to  take  for  granted.  But  he 
was  invariably  kind  in  all  his  dealings  with  him, 
as  if  he  realized  that  Tommy  had  lost  the  one  pos- 
session he  prized  above  all  others  and  were  sorry 
for  him. 

Whatever  Tommy's  mood,  and  his  moods  varied 
considerably,  he  was  never  other  than  patient 
with  him,  bearing  with  him  as  he  would  never  have 
borne  in  the  byegone  happier  days  of  their  good 
comradeship.  He  never  rebuked  him,  never  of- 
fered him  advice,  never  attempted  in  any  fash- 
ion to  test  the  influence  that  yet  remained  to  him. 
And  his  very  forbearance  hurt  Tommy  more  poign- 
antly than  any  open  rupture  or  even  tacit  avoid- 
ance could  have  hurt  him .  There  were  times  when 
he  would  have  sacrificed  all  he  had,  even  down 
to  his  own  honour,  to  have  forced  an  understand- 
ing with  Monck,  to  have  compelled  him  to  yield 
up  his  secret.  But  whenever  he  braced  himself  to 
ask  for  an  explanation,  he  found  himself  held  back. 
There  was  a  boundary  he  could  not  pass,  a  force 
relentless  and  irresistible,  that  checked  him  at 
the  very  outset.  He  lacked  the  strength  to  batter 
down  the  iron  will  that  opposed  him  behind  that 
unaccustomed  gentleness.  He  could  onlyjhow 
miserably  to  the  unspoken  word  of  commancTEnat 
kept  him  at  a  distance. 

He  was  too  loyal  ever  to  discuss  the  matter 
with  Bernard,  though  he  often  wondered  how  the 


The  Serpent  in  the  Desert     347 

latter  regarded  his  brother's  attitude.  At  least 
there  was  no  strain  in  their  relationship  though  he 
was  fairly  convinced  that  Everard  had  not  taken 
Bernard  into  his  confidence.  This  fact  held  a 
subtle  solace  for  him,  for  it  meant  that  Bernard, 
who  was  as  open  as  the  day,  was  content  to  be  in 
the  dark,  and  satisfied  that  it  held  nothing  of  an 
evil  nature.  This  unquestioning  faith  on  Bernard's 
part  was  Tommy's  one  ray  of  light.  He  knew 
instinctively  that  Bernard  was  not  a  man  to  com- 
promise with  evil.  He  carried  his  banner  that 
all  might  see.  He  was  not  ashamed  to  confess, 
his  Master  before  all  men,  and  Tommy  mutely 
admired  him  for  it. 

He  marked  with  pleasure  the  intimacy  that 
existed  between  this  man  and  his  sister.  Like 
Stella,  though  in  a  different  sense,  he  had  grown 
imperceptibly  to  look  upon  him  as  a  safeguard. 
He  was  a  sure  antidote  to  nervous  forebodings. 
The  advent  of  the  baby  also  gave  him  keen  delight. 
Tommy  was  a  lover  of  all  things  youthful.  He 
declared  he  had  never  felt  so  much  at  home  in 
India  before. 

Peter  also  was  almost  as  much  in  the  baby's 
company  as  was  its  ayah.  The  administration  of 
the  bottle  was  Peter's  proudest  privilege,  and  he 
would  walk  soft-footed  to  and  fro  for  any  length  of 
time  carrying  the  infant  in  his  arms.  Stella  was 
always  content  when  the  baby  was  in  his  charge. 
Her  confidence  in  Peter's  devotion  was  unbounded. 
The  child  was  not  very  strong  and  needed  great 


348       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

care.  The  care  Peter  lavished  upon  it  was  as 
tender  as  her  own.  There  was  something  of  a  feud 
between  him  and  the  ayah,  but  no  trace  of  this 
was  ever  apparent  in  her  presence.  As  for  the 
baby,  he  seemed  to  love  Peter  better  than  any  one 
else,  and  was  generally  at  his  best  when  in  his  arms. 

The  Green  Bungalow  became  a  favourite  meet- 
ing-place with  the  ladies  of  the  station,  somewhat 
to  Stella's  dismay.  Lady  Harriet  swept  in  at  all 
hours  to  hold  inspections  of  the  infant's  progress 
and  give  advice,  and  everyone  who  had  ever  had  a 
baby  seemed  to  have  some  fresh  warning  or  word 
of  instruction  to  bestow. 

They  were  all  very  kind  to  her.  She  received 
many  invitations  to  tea,  and  smiled  over  her  sud- 
den popularity.  But — it  dawned  upon  her  when 
she  had  been  about  three  weeks  in  the  station — no 
one  but  the  Ralstons  seemed  to  think  of  asking  her 
and  her  husband  to  dine.  She  thought  but  little 
of  the  omission  at  first.  Evening  entertainments 
held  but  slight  attraction  for  her,  but  as  time  went 
on  and  Christmas  festivities  drew  near,  she  could 
not  avoid  noticing  that  practically  every  invitation 
she  received  was  worded  in  so  strictly  personal  a 
fashion  that  there  could  be  no  doubt  that  Everard 
was  not  included  in  it.  Bernard  was  often  asked 
separately,  but  he  generally  refused  on  the  score  of 
the  evening  being  his  best  working  time, 

Also,  after  a  while,  she  could  not  fail  to  notice 
that  Tommy  was  no  longer  at  his  ease  in  Everard's 
presence.  The  old  careless  camaraderie  between 


The  Serpent  in  the  Desert     349 

them  was  gone,  and  she  missed  it  at  first  vaguely, 
later  with  an  uneasiness  that  she  could  not  stifle. 
There  was  something  in  Tommy's  attitude  towards 
his  friend  that  hurt  her.  She  knew  by  instinct 
that  the  boy  was  not  happy.  She  wondered  at 
first  if  there  could  be  some  quarrel  between  them, 
but  decided  in  face  of  Everard's  unvarying  kind- 
ness to  Tommy  that  this  could  not  be. 

Another  thing  struck  her  as  time  went  on. 
Everard  always  checked  all  talk  of  his  prospects. 
He  was  so  repressive  on  the  subject  that  she  could 
not  possibly  pursue  it,  and  she  came  at  last  to  con- 
clude that  his  hope  of  preferment  had  vanished 
like  a  mirage  in  the  desert. 

He  was  very  good  to  her,  but  his  absences  con 
tinued  in  the  old  unaccountable  way,  and  hei 
dread  of  Rustam  Karin,  which  Bernard's  presence 
had  in  a  measure  allayed,  revived  again  till  at  times 
it  was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear. 

She  did  not  talk  of  it  any  further  to  Bernard. 
She  had  told  him  all  her  fears,  and  she  knew  he  was 
on  guard,  knew  instinctively  that  she  could  count 
upon  him  though  he  never  reverted  to  the  matter. 
Somehow  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  speak  to 
him  of  the  strange  avoidance  of  her  husband  that 
was  being  practised  by  the  rest  of  the  station 
either.  She  endured  it  dumbly,  holding  herself 
more  and  more  aloof  in  consequence  of  it  as  the 
days  went  by.  Ever  since  the  days  of  her  own 
ostracism  she  had  placed  a  very  light  price  upon 
social  popularity.  The  love  of  such  women  as 


35°       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Mary  Ralston — and  the  love  of  little  Tessa — were 
of  infinitely  greater  value  in  her  eyes. 

Tessa  and  her  mother  were  once  more  guests  in 
the  Ralstons'  bungalow.  Netta  had  desired  to 
stay  at  the  new  hotel  which — as  also  at  Udalkland 
— native  enterprise  had  erected  near  the  Club ;  but 
Mrs.  Ralston  had  vetoed  this  plan  with  much 
firmness,  and  after  a  little  petulant  argument 
Netta  had  given  in.  She  did  not  greatly  care  for 
staying  with  the  Ralstons.  Mary  was  a  dear  good 
soul  of  course,  but  inclined  to  be  interfering,  and 
now  that  the  zest  of  life  was  returning  to  Netta, 
her  desire  for  her  own  way  was  beginning  to  re- 
assert itself.  However,  the  Ralstons'  bungalow 
also  was  in  close  proximity  to  the  Club,  and  in 
consideration  of  this  she  consented  to  take  up  her 
abode  there.  Her  days  of  seclusion  were  over. 
She  had  emerged  from  them  with  a  fevered  craving 
for  excitement  of  any  description  mingled  with 
that  odd  defiance  that  had  characterized  her 
almost  ever  since  her  husband's  death.  She  had 
never  kept  any  very  great  control  upon  her  tongue, 
but  now  it  was  positively  venomous.  She  seemed 
to  bear  a  grudge  against  all  the  world. 

Tessa,  with  her  beloved  Scooter,  went  her  own 
way  as  of  yore,  and  spent  most  of  her  time  at  The 
Green  Bungalow  where  there  was  always  someone 
to  welcome  her.  She  arrived  there  one  day  in  a 
state  of  great  indignation,  Scooter  as  usual  clinging 
to  her  hair  and  trying  his  utmost  to  escape. 

Like  a  whirlwind  she  burst  upon  Stella,  who  was 


The  Serpent  in  the  Desert     351 

sitting  with  her  baby  in  the  French  window  of  her 
room. 

"Aunt  Stella,"  she  cried  breathlessly,  "Mother 
says  she's  sure  you  and  Uncle  Everard  won't  go  to 
the  officers'  picnic  at  Khanmulla  this  year.  It 
isn't  true,  is  it,  Aunt  Stella?  You  will  go,  and 
you'll  take  me  with  you,  won't  you?" 

The  officers'  picnic  at  Khanmulla !  The  words 
called  up  a  flood  of  memory  in  Stella's  heart.  She 
looked  at  Tessa,  the  smile  of  welcome  still  upon 
her  face;  but  she  did  not  see  her.  She  was  standing 
once  more  in  the  moonlight,  listening  to  the  tread 
of  a  man's  feet  on  the  path  below  her,  waiting — 
waiting  with  a  throbbing  heart — for  the  sound  of 
a  man's  quiet  voice. 

Tessa  came  nearer  to  her,  looking  at  her  with  an 
odd  species  of  speculation.  "Aunt  Stella,"  she 
said,  "that  wasn't — all — Mother  said.  She  made 
me  very,  very  angry.  Shall  I  tell  you — would 
you  like  to  know — why?" 

Stella's  eyes  ceased  to  gaze  into  distance.  She 
looked  at  the  child.  Some  vague  misgiving  stirred 
within  her.  It  was  the  instinct  of  self-defence 
that  moved  her  to  say,  ' '  I  don't  want  to  listen  to 
any  silly  gossip,  Tessa  darling. " 

"It  isn't  silly!"  declared  Tessa.  "It's  much 
worse  than  that.  And  I'm  going  to  tell  you,  cos  I 
think  I'd  better.  She  said  that  everybody  says 
that  Uncle  Everard  won't  go  to  the  picnic  on 
Christmas  Eve  cos  he's  ashamed  to  look  people  in 
the  face.  I  said  it  wasn't  true."  Very  stoutly 


352       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Tessa  brought  out  the  assertion;  then,  a  moment 
later,  with  a  queer  sidelong  glance  into  Stella's 
face,  "It  isn't  true,  dear,  is  it?" 

Ashamed!  Everard  ashamed!  Stella's  hands 
clasped  each  other  unconsciously  about  the  sleep- 
ing baby  on  her  lap.  Strangely  her  own  voice 
came  to  her  while  she  was  not  even  aware  of 
uttering  the  words.  "Why  should  he  be 
ashamed?" 

Tessa's  eyes  were  dark  with  mystery.  She 
pressed  against  Stella  with  a  small  protective 
gesture.  "Darling,  she  said  horrid  things,  but 
they  aren't  true  any  of  them.  If  Uncle  Everard 
had  been  there,  she  wouldn't  have  dared.  I  told 
her  so." 

With  an  effort  Stella  unclasped  her  hands.  She 
put  her  arm  around  the  little  girl.  "Tell  me  what 
they  are  saying,  Tessa,"  she  said.  "I  think  with 
you  that  I  had  better  know." 

Tessa  suffered  Scooter  to  escape  in  order  to 
hug  Stella  close.  "They  are  saying  things  about 
when  he  went  on  leave  just  after  you  married 
Captain  Dacre,  how  he  said  he  wanted  to  go  to 
England  and  didn't  go,  and  how — how — "  Tessa 
checked  herself  abruptly.  "It  came  out  at  mess 
one  night,  "  she  ended. 

A  faint  smile  of  relief  shone  in  Stella's  eyes. 
' '  But  I  knew  that,  Tessa, ' '  she  said.  ' '  He  told  me 
himself.  Is  that  all?" 

"You  knew?"  Tessa's  eyes  shone  with  sudden 
triumph.  "Oh,  then  do  tell  them  what  he  was 


The  Serpent  in  the  Desert      353 

doing  and  stop  their  horrid  talking!  It  was  Mrs. 
Burton  began  it.  I  always  did  hate  her." 

"I  can't  tell  them  what  he  was  doing,"  Stella 
said,  feeling  her  heart  sink  again. 

"You  can't?  Oh!"  Keen  disappointment  sound- 
ed in  Tessa's  voice.  "But  p'raps  he  would,"  she 
added  reflectively,  "if  he  knew  what  beasts  they 
all  are.  Shall  I  ask  him  to,  Aunt  Stella? " 

"Tell  me  first  what  they  are  saying!"  Stella 
said,  bracing  herself  to  face  the  inevitable. 

Tessa  looked  at  her  dubiously  for  a  moment. 
Somehow  she  would  have  found  it  easier  to  tell 
this  thing  to  Monck  himself  than  to  Stella.  And 
yet  she  had  a  feeling  that  it  must  be  told,  that 
Stella  ought  to  know.  She  clung  a  little  closer  to 
her. 

"I  always  did  hate  Major  Burton,"  she  said 
sweepingly.  "I  know  he  started  it  in  the  first 
place.  He  said — and  now  she  says — that — that 
it's  very  funny  that  the  leave  Uncle  Everard  had 
when  he  pretended  to  go  to  England  should  have 
come  just  at  the  time  that  Captain  Dacre  was 
killed  in  the  mountains,  and  that  a  horrid  old  man 
Uncle  Everard  knows  called  Rustam  Karin  who 
lives  in  the  bazaar  was  away  at  the  same  time. 
And  they  just  wonder  if  p'raps  he — the  old  man — 
had  anything  to  do  with  Captain  Dacre  dying  like 
he  did,  and  if  Uncle  Everard  knows — something — 
about  it.  That's  how  they  put  it,  Aunt  Stella. 
Mother  only  told  me  to  tease  me,  but  that's  what 
they  say. " 


354       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

She  stopped,  pressing  Stella's  hand  very  tightly 
to  her  little  quivering  bosom,  and  there  followed  a 
pause,  a  deep  silence  that  seemed  to  have  in  it 
something  of  an  almost  suffocating  quality. 

Tessa  moved  at  last  because  it  became  unbear- 
able, moved  and  looked  down  into  Stella's  face  as 
if  half  afraid.  She  could  not  have  said  what  she 
expected  to  see  there,  but  she  was  undoubtedly 
relieved  when  the  beautiful  face,  white  as  death 
though  it  was,  smiled  back  at  her  without  a  tremor. 

Stella  kissed  her  tenderly  and  let  her  go.  "Thank 
you  for  telling  me,  darling, "  she  said  gently.  "It 
is  just  as  well  that  I  should  know  what  people  say, 
even  though  it  is  nothing  but  idle  gossip — idle 
gossip. "  She  repeated  the  words  with  emphasis. 
"Run  and  find  Scooter,  sweetheart!"  she  said. 
"And  put  all  this  silly  nonsense  out  of  your  dear 
little  head  for  good!  I  must  take  baby  to  ayah 
now.  By  and  by  we  will  read  a  fairy-tale  together 
and  enjoy  ourselves. " 

Tessa  ran  away  comforted,  yet  also  vaguely 
uneasy.  Her  tenderness  notwithstanding,  there 
was  something  not  quite  normal  about  Stella's 
dismissal  of  her.  This  land  friend  of  hers  had 
never  sent  her  away  quite  so  summarily  before.  It 
was  almost  as  if  she  were  half  afraid  that  Tessa 
might  see — or  guess — too  much. 

As  for  Stella,  she  carried  her  baby  to  the  ayah, 
and  then  shut  herself  into  her  own  room  where  she 
remained  for  a  long  time  face  to  face  with  these 
new  doubts. 


The  Serpent  in  the  Desert     355 

He  had  loved  her  before  her  marriage;  he  had 
called  their  union  Kismet.  He  wielded  a  strange, 
almost  an  uncanny  power  among  natives.  And 
there  was  Rustam  Karin  whom  long  ago  she  had 
secretly  credited  with  Ralph  Dacre's  death — the 
serpent  in  the  garden — the  serpent  in  the  desert 
also — whose  evil  coils,  it  seemed  to  her,  were  daily 
tightening  round  her  heart. 


sift  ni  JnaiaS  9ffT 


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,3§n£i^a  £  bablorw  aH  .ternar^I  nornij 
bnA  .savbfin  §norrtB  iswoq  v.fittBsn 
bsrl  arlg  O^B  §rrol  rnorfw  nriB^I  mBteufl.  aew 
arfi  —  rftaob  sVnoBQjfigk^^rtt  bslibe^o 
li  ni  Ins-r^lrf^  —  nsbts  edt  ni 


ion  Dnucn 

IT  was  three  days  later  that  Tommy  came 
striding  in  from  the  polo-ground  in  great  excite- 
ment with  the  news  that  Captain  Ermsted's 
murderer  had  been  arrested. 

"All  honour  to  Everard!"  he  said,  flinging  him- 
self into  a  chair  by  Stella's  side.  '  '  The  fellow  was 
caught  at  Khanmulla.  Barnes  arrested  him,  but 
he  gives  the  credit  of  the  catch  to  Everard.  The 
fellow  will  swing,  of  course.  It  will  be  a  sensational 
trial,  for  rumour  has  it  that  the  Rajah  was  pushing 
behind.  He,  of  course,  is  smooth  as  oil.  I  saw  him 
at  the  Club  just  now,  hovering  round  Mrs.  Erm- 
sted  as  usual,  and  she  encouraging  him.  That 
girl  is  positively  infatuated.  Shouldn't  wonder  if 
there's  a  rude  awakening  before  her.  I  beg  your 
pardon,  sir.  You  spoke?"  He  turned  abruptly 
to  Bernard  who  was  seated  near. 

"I  was  only  wondering  what  Everard's  share 
had  been  in  tracking  this  charming  person  down,  " 
observed  the  elder  Monck,  who  was  smiling  a  little 
at  Tommy's  evident  excitement. 

"Oh,  everyone  knows  that  Everard  is  a  regular 
356 


The  Woman's  Way  357 

sleuth-hound, ' '  said  Tommy.  4 '  He  is  more  native 
than  the  natives  when  there  is  anything  of  this 
kind  in  the  wind.  He  is  a  born  detective,  and  he 
and  that  old  chap  in  the  bazaar  are  such  a  strong 
combination  that  they  are  practically  infallible 
and  invincible." 

"Do  you  mean  Rustam  Karin?"  Stella  spoke 
very  quietly,  not  lifting  her  eyes  from  her  work. 

Tommy  turned  to  her.  ' '  That's  the  chap.  The 
old  beggar  fellow.  At  least  they  say  he  is.  He 
never  shows.  Hafiz  does  all  the  show  part.  The 
old  boy  is  the  brain  that  works  the  wires.  Everard 
has  immense  faith  in  him. " 

"I  know,"  Stella  said. 

Her  voice  sounded  strangled,  and  Bernard 
looked  across  at  her;  but  she  continued  to  work 
without  looking  up. 

Tommy  lingered  for  a  while,  expatiating  upon 
Everard's  astuteness,  and  finally  went  away  to 
dress  for  mess  still  in  a  state  of  considerable 
excitement. 

Stella  and  Bernard  sat  in  silence  after  his  depart- 
ure. There  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  say.  But 
when,  after  a  time,  he  got  up  to  go,  bhe  very  sud- 
denly raised  her  eyes. 

"Bernard!" 

"My  dear!"  he  said  very  kindly. 

She  put  out  a  hand  to  him,  almost  as  if  feeling 
her  way  in  a  dark  place.  ' '  I  want  to  ask  you, "  she 
said,  speaking  hurriedly,  "whether  you  know — 
whether  you  have  ever  heard — the  things  that  are 


358       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

being  said  about — about  Everard  and  this  man— 
Rustam  Karin. " 

She  spoke  with  immense  effort.  It  was  evident 
that  she  was  greatly  agitated. 

Bernard  stopped  beside  her,  holding  her  hand 
firmly  in  his.  "Tell  me  what  they  are!"  he  said 
gently. 

She  made  a  hopeless  gesture.  "Then  you  do 
know!  Everyone  knows.  Naturally  I  am  the 
last.  You  knew  I  connected  that  dreadful  man 
long  ago  with — with  Ralph's  death.  I  had  good 
reason  for  doing  so  after — after  I  had  actually  seen 
him  on  the  verandah  here  that  awful  night.  But 
— but  now  it  seems — because  he  and  Everard  have 
always  been  in  partnership — because  they  were 
both  absent  at  the  time  of  Ralph's  death,  no  one 
knew  where — people  are  talking  and  saying — and 
saying — "  She  broke  off  with  a  sharp,  agonized 
sound.  "I  can't  tell  you  what  they  are  saying!" 
she  whispered. 

"It  is  false!"  said  Bernard  stoutly.  "It's  a 
foul  lie  of  the  devil's  own  concocting !  How  long 
have  you  known  of  this  ?  Who  was  vile  enough  to 
tell  you?" 

"You  knew?"  she  whispered. 

"I  never  heard  the  thing  put  into  words  but  I 
had  my  own  suspicions  of  what  was  going  about, " 
he  admitted.  "But  I  never  believed  it.  Nothing 
on  this  earth  would  induce  me  to  believe  it.  You 
don't  believe  it,  either,  child.  You  know  him 
better  than  that. " 


The  Woman's  Way  359 

She  hid  her  face  from  him  with  a  smothered  sob. 
"I  thought  I  did — once." 

"You  did,"  he  asserted  staunchly.  "You  do! 
Don't  tell  me  otherwise,  for  I  shan't  believe  you 
if  you  do !  What  kind  friend  told  you  ?  I  want 
to  know." 

"Oh,  it  was  only  little  Tessa.  You  mustn't 
blame  her.  She  was  full  of  indignation,  poor 
child.  Her  mother  taunted  her  with  it.  You 
know — or  perhaps  you  don't  know — what  Netta 
Ermsted  is. " 

Bernard's  face  was  very  grim  as  he  made  reply. 
"I  think  I  can  guess.  But  you  are  not  going  to 
be  poisoned  by  her  venom.  Why  don't  you  tell 
Everard,  have  it  out  with  him?  Say  you  don't 
believe  it,  but  it  hurts  you  to  hear  a  damnable 
slander  like  this  and  not  be  able  to  refute  it !  You 
are  not  afraid  of  him,  Stella?  Surely  you  are  not 
afraid  of  him!" 

But  Stella  only  hid  her  face  a  little  lower,  and 
spoke  no  word. 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  as  she  sat.  "What 
does  that  mean?"  he  said.  "Isn't  your  love 
equal  to  the  strain?" 

She  shook  her  head  dumbly.  She  could  not 
meet  his  look. 

"What?"  he  said.  "Is  my  love  greater  than 
yours  then  ?  I  would  trust  his  honour  even  to  the 
gallows,  if  need  be.  Can ' t  you  say  as  much  ? ' ' 

She  answered  him  with  her  head  bowed,  her 
words  barely  audible.  "It  isn't  a  question  of 


360       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

love.  I — should  always  love  him — whatever  he 
did." 

"Ah!"  The  flicker  of  a  smile  crossed  Bernard's 
face.  "That  is  the  woman's  aray.  There's  a 
good  deal  to  be  said  for  it,  I  daresay. " 

"Yes — yes."  Quiveringly  she  made  answer. 
"But — if  this  thing  were  true — my  love  would 
have  to  be  sacrificed,  even — even  though  it  would 
mean  tearing  out  my  very  heart.  I  couldn't  go 
on — with  him.  I  couldn't — possibly. " 

Her  words  trembled  into  silence,  and  the  light 
died  out  of  Bernard's  eyes.  "I  see,"  he  said 
slowly.  "But,  my  dear,  I  can't  understand  how 
you — loving  him  as  you  do — can  allow  for  a 
moment,  even  in  your  most  secret  heart,  that  such 
a  thing  as  this  could  be  true.  That  is  where  you 
begin  to  go  wrong.  That  is  what  does  the  harm. " 

She  looked  up  at  last,  and  the  despair  in  her 
eyes  went  straight  to  his  heart.  "I  have  always 
felt  there  was — something,"  she  said.  "I  can't 
tell  you  exactly  how.  But  it  has  always  been  there. 
I  tried  hard  not  to  love  him — not  to  marry  him. 
But  it  was  no  use.  He  mastered  me  with  his  love. 
But  I  always  knew — I  always  knew — that  there 
was  something  hidden  which  I  might  not  see.  I 
have  caught  sight  of  it  a  dozen  times,  but  I  have 
never  really  seen  it."  She  suppressed  a  quick 
shudder.  "I  have  been  afraid  of  it,  and — I  have 
always  looked  the  other  way. " 

"A  mistake,"  Bernard  said.  "You  should 
always  face  your  bogies.  They  have  a  trick  of 


if:youdon^J*acq  ni        rfo  a'fillaiS 
"  Yes; 


good,"  she  saif^'lS&iclr     Be  n 

any  one  but  you.  I  can't  speak  to  Everard.  It 
isn't  entirely  my  own  weakness.  He  holds  me  off. 
He  makes  me  f  eePfHft^fNtt^ff^il1  i&iSMkfe  to 
speak.  »bi£3orf",snic 

"Win  you  let  me?"  Bernard  suggested,  taking 
out  his  pipe  and  frowning  over  it. 

She  shook  her  head  i 

am  sure  he  wouldn't  answer  you,  and—  -and  it 
would  hurt  him  to  know  -tljat  I  had  turned  to  any 
one  else,  even  to  you.  It  would  only  make  things 
more  difficult  to  bear."  She  stopped  short  with  a 
nervous  gesture.  "He  is  cdming  now,  '*  she  said. 

There  was  a  sound  of  horse's  hoofs  at  the  gate, 
and  in  a  moment  Everard  Monck  came  into  vie 
riding  his  tall  Waler  which  was  smothered  vsj 
dust  and  foam. 

He  waved  to  his  wife  as  he  rode  up  the  1 
path.     His  dark  face  was  alight  with  a  grim  ti 
umph.    A  saice  ran  forward  to  take  his  animal, 
and  he  slid  to  the  ground  and  stamped  his  £eet  as 
if  stiff.b^cx 

Then  without  haste  he  mounted  the  Steps  and 
came  to  them. 

"I  am  not  fit  to  come  near  you,"  he  said,  as  he 
drew  near.  "I  h&Ve'beten  right  across  the  desert 
to  Udalkhand,  and  had  to  do  some  haM  riding  :1o 


362       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

get  back  in  time."  He  pulled  off  his  glove  and 
just  touched  Stella's  cheek  in  passing.  "Hullo, 
Bernard!  About  time  for  a  drink,  isn't  it?" 

He  looked  momentarily  surprised  when  Stella 
swiftly  turned  her  head  and  kissed  the  hand  that 
had  so  lightly  caressed  her.  He  stopped  beside  her 
and  laid  it  on  her  shoulder. 

"I  am  afraid  you  won't  approve  of  me  when  I 
tell  you  what  I  have  been  doing, "  he  said. 

She  looked  up  at  him.  "I  know.  Tommy 
came  in  and  told  us.  You — seem  to  have  done 
something  rather  great.  I  suppose  we  ought  to 
congratulate  you. " 

He  smiled  a  little.  "It  is  always  satisfactory 
when  a  murderer  gets  his  deserts, ' '  he  said, ' '  though 
I  am  afraid  the  man  who  does  the  job  is  not  in  all 
cases  the  prime  malefactor. " 

' '  Ah ! ' '  Stella  said.  She  folded  up  her  work  with 
hands  that  were  not  quite  steady ;  her  face  was  very 
pale. 

Everard  stood  looking  down  at  the  burnished 
coils  of  her  hair.  "Are  you  going  to  the  dance  at 
the  Club  to-night?"  he  asked,  after  a  moment. 

She  shook  her  head  instantly.     "No. " 

"Why  not?"  he  questioned. 

She  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  and  looked  up  at 
him.  "As  you  know,  I  never  was  particularly 
fond  of  the  station  society. " 

He  frowned  a  little.  "It's  better  than  nothing. 
You  are  too  given  to  shutting  yourself  up.  Bernard 
thinks  so  too. " 


The  Woman's  Way  363 

Stella  glanced  towards  her  brother-in-law  with  a 
slight  lift  of  the  eyebrows.  ' '  I  don't  think  he  does. 
But  in  any  case,  we  are  engaged  to-night.  It  is 
Tessa's  birthday,  and  she  and  Scooter  are  coming 
to  dine." 

' '  Coming  to  dine !  What  on  earth  f or  ? "  Ever- 
ard  looked  his  astonishment. 

"My  doing,"  said  Bernard.  "It's  a  surprise- 
party.  Stella  very  kindly  fell  in  with  the  plan, 
but  it  originated  with  me.  You  see,  Princess  Blue- 
bell is  ten  years  old  to-day,  and  quite  grown  up. 
Mrs.  Ralston  had  a  children's  party  for  her  this 
afternoon  which  I  was  privileged  to  attend.  I 
must  say  Tessa  made  a  charming  hostess,  but  she 
confided  to  me  at  parting  that  the  desire  of  her  life 
was  to  play  Cinderella  and  go  out  to  dinner  in  a 
'rickshaw  all  by  herself.  So  I  undertook  then  and 
there  that  a  'rickshaw  should  be  waiting  for  her 
at  the  gate  at  eight  o'clock,  and  she  should  have 
a  stodgy  grown-up  entertainment  to  follow.  She 
was  delighted  with  the  idea,  poor  little  soul.  The 
Ralstons  are  going  to  the  Club  dance,  and  of  course 
Mrs.  Ermsted  also,  but  Tommy  is  giving  up  the 
first  half  to  come  and  amuse  Cinderella.  Mrs. 
Ralston  thinks  the  child  will  be  ill  with  S9  much 
excitement,  but  a  tenth  birthday  is  something  of 
an  occasion,  as  I  pointed  out.  And  she  certainly 
behaved  wonderfully  well  this  afternoon,  though 
she  was  about  the  only  child  who  did.  I  nearly 
throttled  the  Burton  youngster  for  kicking  the 
ayah,  Httle  brute.  He  seemed  to  think  it  was 


3^4       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

a  very  ordinary  thing  to  do."  Bernard  stopped 
himself  with  a  laugh.  "You'll  be  bored  with  all 
this,  and  I  must  go  and  make  ready.  There  are 
to  be  Chinese  lanterns  to  light  the  way  and  a  strip 
of  red  cloth  on  the  steps.  Peter  is  helping  as 
usual,  Peter  the  invaluable.  We  shan't  keep  it  up 
very  late.  Will  you  join  us?  Or  are  you  also 
bound  for  the  Club?" 

"I  will  join  you  with  pleasure,"  Everard  said. 
"I  haven't  seen  the  imp  for  some  days.  There 
has  been  too  much  on  hand.  How  is  the  boy, 
Stella?  Shall  we  go  and  say  good-night  to  him? " 

Stella  had  risen.  She  put  her  hand  through  his 
arm,  "Bernard  and  Tommy  are  to  do  all  the 
entertaining,  and  you  and  I  can  amuse  each  other 
for  once.  We  don't  often  have  such  a  chance. " 

She  smiled  as  she  spoke,  but  her  lips  were  quiver- 
ing. Bernard  sauntered  away,  and  as  he  went, 
Rverard  stooped  and  kissed  her  upturned  face. 

He  did  not  speak,  and  she  clung  to  him  for  a 
moment  passionately  close.  Wherefore  she  could 
not  have  said,  but  there  was  in  her  embrace  some- 
thing to  restrain  her  tears.  She  forced  them  back 
with  her  utmost  resolution  as  they  went  together 
to  see  their  child. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  SURPRISE  PARTY 

PUNCTUALLY  at  eight  o'clock  Tessa  arrived, 
slightly  awed  but  supremely  happy,  seated  in  a 
'rickshaw,  escorted  by  Bernard,  and  hugging  the 
beloved  Scooter  to  her  eager  little  breast. 

Her  eyes  were  shining  with  mysterious  expecta- 
tion. As  her  cavalier  handed  her  from  her  char- 
iot up  the  red-carpeted  steps  she  moved  as  one 
who  treads  enchanted  ground.  The  little  creature 
in  her  arms  wore  an  air  of  deep  suspicion.  His 
pointed  head  turned  to  and  fro  with  ferret-like 
movements.  His  sharp  red  eyes  darted  hither  and 
thither  almost  apprehensively.  He  was  like  a  toy 
on  wires. 

4 '  He  is  going — p'raps — to  turn  into  a  fairy  prince 
soon,"  explained  Tessa.  "I'm  not  sure  that  he 
quite  likes  the  idea  though.  He  would  rather  kill 
a  dragor*  P'raps  he'll  do  both. " 

"P'raps,"  agreed  Bernard. 

He  led  the  little  girl  along  the  vernadah  under 
the  bobbing  lanterns.  Tessa  looked  about  her 
critically.  "There  aren't  any  other  children,  are 
there?"  she  said. 

' '  Not  one, "  said  Bernard, ' '  unless  you  count  me. 
365 


366       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

We  are  going  to  dine  together,  you  and  I,  quite 
alone — if  you  can  put  up  with  me.  And  after  that 
we  will  hold  a  reception  for  grown-ups  only. " 

' ' I  shall  like  that, ' '  said  Tessa  graciously.  "Ah, 
here  is  Peter!  Peter,  will  you  please  bring  a  box 
for  Scooter  while  I  have  my  dinner?  He  wants 
to  go  snake-hunting,"  she  added  to  Bernard. 
"And  if  he  does  that,  I  shan't  have  him  again  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening. " 

"You  don't  get  snakes  this  time  of  year,  do 
you?"  asked  Bernard. 

"Oh  yes,  sometimes.  I  saw  one  the  other  day 
when  I  was  out  with  Major  Ralston.  He  tried 
to  kill  it  with  his  stick,  but  it  got  away.  And 
Scooter  wasn't  there.  They  like  to  hide  under  bits 
of  carpet  like  this,"  said  Tessa  in  an  instructive 
tone,  pointing  to  the  strip  that  had  been  laid  in  her 
honour.  "Are  you  afraid  of  snakes,  Uncle  St. 
Bernard?" 

"Yes,"  said  Bernard  with  simplicity.  "Aren't 
you?" 

Tessa  looked  slightly  surprised  at  the  admission. 
"I  don't  know.  I  expect  I  am.  Peter  isn't- 
Peter's  very  brave. " 

"He  has  been  more  or  less  brought  up  with 
them, "  said  Bernard.  "Scorpions  too.  He  smiled 
the  other  day  when  I  fled  from  a  scorpion  in  the 
garden.  And  I  believe  he  has  a  positively  fatherly 
feeling  for  rats." 

Tessa  shivered  a  little.  "Scooter  killed  a  rat 
the  other  day,  and  it  squealed  dreadfully.  I  don't 


The  Surprise  Party  367 

think  he  ought  to  do  things  like  that,  but  of  course 
he  doesn't  know  any  better. " 

"He  looks  as  if  he  knows  a  lot,"  said  Bernard. 

"Yes,  I  wish  he  would  learn  to  talk.  He's 
awful  clever.  Do  you  think  we  could  ever  teach 
him?"  asked  Tessa. 

Bernard  shook  his  head.  "No.  It  would  take 
a  magician  to  do  that.  We  are  not  clever  enough, 
either  of  us.  Peter  now " 

"Oh,  is  Peter  a  magician?"  said  Tessa,  with 
shining  eyes.  "Peter,  dear  Peter,"  turning  to 
him  ecstatically  as  he  appeared  with  a  box  in 
which  to  imprison  her  darling,  "do  you  think 
you  could  possibly  teach  my  little  Scooter  to 
talk?" 

Peter  smiled  all  over  his  bronze  countenance. 
"Missy  sahib,  only  the  Holy  Ones  can  do  that," 
he  said. 

Tessa's  face  fell.  "That's  as  bad  as  telling  you 
to  pray  for  anything,  isn't  it? "  she  said  to  Bernard. 
"And  my  prayers  never  come  true.  Do  yours?" 

"They  always  get  answered,"  said  Bernard, 
"some  time  or  other." 

"Oh,  do  they?"  Tessa  regarded  him  with  inter- 
est. "Does  God  come  and  talk  to  you  then?"  she 
said. 

He  smiled  a  little.  "  He  speaks  to  all  who  wait 
to  hear,  my  princess, "  he  said. 

"Only  to  grown-ups,"  said  Tessa,  looking 
incredulous. 

Bernard  put  his  arm  round  her.     "No/'  fce 


368       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

said.  ' '  It's  the  children  who  come  first  with  Him. 
He  may  not  give  them  just  what  they  ask  for,  but 
it's  generally  something  better. " 

Tessa  stared  at  him,  her  eyes  round  and  dark. 
"S'pose, "  she  said  suddenly,  "a  big  snake  was  to 
come  out  of  that  corner,  and  I  was  to  say,  '  Don't 
let  it  bite  me,  Lord!'  Do  you  think  it  would?" 

"No,"  said  Bernard  very  decidedly. 

"Oh!"  said  Tessa.  "Well,  I  wish  one  would 
then,  for  I'd  love  to  see  if  it  would  or  not. " 

Bernard  pulled  her  to  him  and  kissed  her.  ' '  We 
won't  talk  any  more  about  snakes  or  you'll  be 
dreaming  of  them,"  he  said.  "Come  along  and 
dine  with  me!  Rather  sport  having  it  all  to  our- 
selves, eh?" 

"Where's  Aunt  Stella  and  Uncle  Everard?" 
asked  Tessa. 

"Oh,  they're  preparing  for  the  reception.  Let 
me  take  your  Highness's  cloak  I  This  is  the  ban- 
queting-room. " 

He  threw  the  cloak  over  a  chair  in  the  verandah, 
and  led  her  into  the  drawing-room,  where  a  small 
table  lighted  by  candles  with  crimson  shades 
awaited  them. 

"How  pretty!"  cried  Tessa,  clapping  her  hands. 

Peter  in  snowy  attire,  benign  and  magnificent, 
attended  to  their  wants,  and  the  feast  proceeded, 
vastly  enjoyed  by  both.  Tessa  had  never  been  so 
ftted  in  all  her  small  life  before. 

When,  at  the  end  of  the  repast,  to  an  accompani- 
ment of  nuts  and  sweetmeats,  Bernard  poured  her 


The  Surprise  Party  369 

a  tiny  ruby-coloured  liqueur  glass  of  wine,  her 
delight  knew  no  bounds. 

"I've  never  enjoyed  myself  so  much  before, "  she 
declared.  "What  a  ducky  little  glass!  Now  I'm 
going  to  drink  your  health!" 

"No.  I  drink  yours  first."  Bernard  arose, 
holding  his  glass  high.  "I  drink  to  the  Princess 
Bluebell.  May  she  grow  fairer  every  day !  And 
may  her  cup  of  blessing  be  always  full ! " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Tessa.  "And  now,  Uncle 
St.  Bernard,  I'm  going  to  drink  to  you.  May 
you  always  have  lots  to  laugh  at !  And  may  your 
prayers  always  come  true!  That  rhymes,  doesn't 
it  ? "  she  added  complacently.  "  Do  I  drink  all  my 
wine  now,  or  only  a  sip?" 

"Depends,"  said  Bernard. 

"How  does  it  depend?" 

' '  It  depends  on  how  much  you  love  me, "  he 
explained.  "If  there's  any  one  else  you  love 
better,  you  save  a  little  for  him. " 

She  looked  straight  at  him  with  a  hint  of  em- 
barrassment in  her  eyes.  "I'm  afraid  I  love  Uncle 
Everard  best,"  she  said. 

Bernard  smiled  upon  her  with  reassuring  kind- 
liness. "Quite  right,  my  child.  So  you  ought. 
There's  Tommy  too  and  Aunt  Stella.  I  am  sure 
you  want  to  drink  to  them. " 

Tessa  slipped  round  the  table  to  his  side,  clasp- 
ing her  glass  tightly.  As  she  came  within  the  circle 
of  his  arm  she  whispered,  "Yes,  I  love  them  ever 
such  a  lot.  But  I  lore  you  best  of  all,  except 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Uncle  Everard,  and  he  doesn't  want  me  when  he's 
got  Aunt  Stella.  I  s'pose  you  never  wanted  a  little 
girl  for  your  very  own  did  you?" 

He  looked  down  at  her,  his  blue  eyes  full  of 
tenderness.  "I've  often  wanted  you,  Tessa,"  he 
said. 

' '  Have  you  ? ' '  she  beamed  upon  him,  rubbing  her 
flushed  cheek  against  his  shoulder.  "  I'm  sure  you 
can  have  me  if  you  like, "  she  said. 

He  pressed  her  to  him.  "I  don't  think  your 
mother  would  agree  to  that,  you  know. " 

Tessa's  red  lips  pouted  disgust.  "Oh,  she 
wouldn't  care!  She  never  cares  what  I  do.  She 
likes  it  much  best  when  I'm  not  there^" 

Bernard's  brows  were  slightly  drawn.  His  arm 
held  the  little  slim  body  very  closely  to  him. 

"You  and  I  would  be  so  happy,"  insinuated 
Tessa,  as  he  did  not  speak.  "I'd  do  as  you  told 
me  always.  And  I'd  never,  never  be  rude  to 
you." 

He  bent  and  kissed  her.  "I  know  that,  my 
darling. " 

"And  when  you  got  old,  dear  Uncle  St.  Bernard, 
— really  old,  I  mean — I'd  take  such  care  of  you, " 
she  proceeded.  "I'd  be — more — than  a  daughter 
to  you." 

"Ah!"  he  said.  "I  should  like  that,  my  prin- 
cess of  the  bluebell  eyes. " 

"You  would?"  she  looked  at  him  eagerly. 
"Then  don't  you  think  you  might  tell  Mother 
you'll  have  me?  I  know  she  wouldn't  mind. " 


The  Surprise  Party  371 

He  smiled  at  her  impetuosity.  "We  must  be 
patient,  my  princess,"  he  said.  "These  things 
can't  be  done  offhand,  if  at  all.  '* 

She  slid  her  arm  round  his  neck  and  hugged  him. 
"But  there  is  the  weeniest,  teeniest  chance,  isn't 
there?  'Cos  you  do  think  you'd  like  to  have  me 
if  I  was  good,  and  I'd — love — to  belong  to  you. 
Is  there  just  the  wee-est  little  chance,  Uncle  St. 
Bernard?  Would  it  be  any  good  praying  for 
it?" 

He  took  her  little  hand  into  his  warm  kind  grasp, 
for  she  was  quivering  all  over  with  excitement. 

' '  Yes,  pray,  little  one ! "  he  said.  ' '  You  may  not 
get  exactly  what  you  want.  But  there  will  be  an 
answer  if  you  keep  on.  Be  sure  of  that ! " 

Tessa  nodded  comprehension.  "All  right.  I 
will.  And  you  will  too,  won't  you?  It'll  be  fun 
both  praying  for  the  same  thing,  won't  it  ?  Oh,  my 
wine!  I  nearly  spilt  it. " 

"Better  drink  it  and  make  it  safe!"  he  said 
with  a  twinkle.  "I'm  going  to  drink  mine,  and 
then  we'll  go  on  to  the  verandah  and  wait  for 
something  to  happen." 

"Is  something  going  to  happen?"  asked  Tessa, 
with  a  shiver  of  delighted  anticipation. 

He  laughed.    ' '  Perhaps, — if  we  live  long  enough. ' ' 

Tessa  drank  her  wine  almost  casually.  ' '  Come 
on!"  she  said.  "Let's  go!" 

But  ere  they  reached  the  French  window  that 
led  on  to  the  verandah,  a  sudden  loud  report  fol- 
lowed by  a  succession  of  minor  ones  coming  from 


372       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

the  compound  told  them  that  the  happenings  had 
already  begun.  Tessa  gave  one  great  jump,  and 
then  literally  danced  with  delight. 

"Fireworks!"  she  cried.  "Fireworks!  That's 
Tommy!  I  know  it  is.  Do  let's  go  and  look!" 
They  went,  and  hung  over  the  verandah-rail  to 
watch  a  masked  figure  attired  in  an  old  pyjama 
suit  of  vivid  green  and  white  whirling  a  magnificent 
wheel  of  fire  that  scattered  glowing  sparks  in  all 
directions. 

Tessa  was  wild  with  excitement.  ' '  How  lovely ! ' ' 
she  cried.  "Oh,  how  lovely!  Dear  Uncle  St. 
Bernard,  mayn't  I  go  down  and  help  him?" 

But  Bernard  decreed  that  she  should  remain 
upon  the  verandah,  and,  strangely,  Tessa  sub- 
mitted without  protest.  She  held  his  hand  tightly, 
as  if  to  prevent  herself  making  any  inadvertent 
dash  for  freedom,  but  she  leapt  to  and  fro  like  a  dog 
on  the  leash,  squeaking  her  ecstasy  at  every  fresh 
display  achieved  by  the  bizarre  masked  figure 
below  them. 

Bernard  watched  her  with  compassionate  sym- 
pathy in  his  kindly  eyes.  Little  Tessa  had  won 
a  very  warm  place  in  his  heart.  He  marvelled  at 
her  mother's  attitude  of  callous  indifference. 

Certainly  Tessa  had  never  enjoyed  herself  more 
thoroughly  than  on  that  evening  of  her  tenth 
birthday.  Time  flew  by  on  the  wings  of  delight. 
Tommy's  exhibition  was  appreciated  with  almost 
delirious  enthusiasm  on  the  verandah,  and  a  little 
crowd  of  natives  at  the  gate  pushed  and  nudged 


The  Surprise  Party  373 

each  other  with  an  admiration  quite  as  heartfelt 
though  carefully  suppressed. 

The  display  had  been  going  on  for  some  time 
when  Stella  came  out  alone  and  joined  the  two 
on  the  verandah.  To  Tessa's  eager  inquiry  for 
Uncle  Everard  she  made  answer  that  he  had  been 
called  out  on  business,  and  to  Bernard  she  added 
that  Hafiz  had  sent  him  a  message  by  one  of  the 
servants,  and  she  supposed  he  had  gone  to  Rustam 
Karin's  stall  in  the  bazaar.  She  looked  pale  and 
dispirited,  but  she  joined  in  Tessa's  delighted 
appreciation  of  the  entertainment  which  now  was 
drawing  to  a  close. 

It  was  getting  late,  and  as  with  a  shower  of 
coloured  stars  the  magician  in  the  compound 
accomplished  a  grand  finale,  Bernard  put  his  arm 
around  the  narrow  shoulders  and  said,  with  a 
kindly  squeeze,  "I  am  going  to  see  my  princess 
home  again  now.  She  mustn't  lose  all  her  beauty- 
sleep." 

She  lifted  her  face  to  kiss  him.  "It  has  been — 
lovely,"  she  said.  "I  do  wish  I  needn't  go  back 
to-night.  Do  you  think  Aunt  Mary  would  mind 
if  I  stayed  with  you?" 

He  smiled  at  her  whimsically.  "Perhaps  not, 
princess;  but  I  am  going  to  take  you  back  to  her 
all  the  same.  Say  good-night  to  Aunt  Stella!  She 
looks  as  if  a  good  dose  of  bed  would  do  her  good. " 

Tommy,  with  his  mask  in  his  hand,  came  run- 
ning up  the  verandah-steps,  and  Tessa  sprang  to 
meet  him. 


374       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Oh,  Tommy — darling,  I  have  enjoyed  myself 
so!" 

He  kissed  her  lightly.  "That's  all  right,  scara- 
mouch. So  have  I.  I  must  get  out  of  this  tog- 
gery now  double-quick.  I  suppose  you  are  off  in 
your  'rickshaw?  I'll  walk  with  you.  It'll  be  on  the 
way  to  the  Club. " 

"Oh,  how  lovely!  You  on  one  side  and  Uncle 
St.  Bernard  on  the  other ! "  cried  Tessa. 

"The  princess  will  travel  in  state,"  observed 
Bernard.  "Ah!  Here  comes  Peter  with  Scooter ! 
Have  your  cloak  on  before  you  take  him  out!" 

The  cloak  had  fallen  from  the  chair.  Peter  set 
down  Scooter  in  his  prison,  and  picked  it  up.  By 
the  light  of  the  bobbing,  coloured  lanterns  he 
placed  it  about  her  shoulders. 

Tessa  suddenly  turned  and  sat  down.  "My 
shoe  is  undone, "  she  said,  extending  her  foot  with 
a  royal  air.  "Where  is  the  prince?" 

The  words  were  hardly  out  of  her  mouth  before 
another  sound  escaped  her  which  she  hastily 
caught  back  as  though  instinct  had  stifled  it  in  her 
throat.  ' '  Look ! "  she  gasped. 

Peter  was  nearest  to  her.  He  had  bent  to  re- 
lease Scooter,  but  like  a  streak  of  light  he  straight- 
ened himself.  He  saw — before  any  one  else  had 
time  to  realize — the  hideous  thing  that  writhed 
in  momentary  entanglement  in  the  folds  of  Tessa's 
cloak,  and  then  suddenly  reared  itself  upon  her  lap 
as  she  sat  frozen  stiff  with  horror. 

He  stooped  over  the  child,  his  hands  outspread, 


The  Surprise  Party  375 

waiting  for  the  moment  to  swoop.  "Missy  sahib, 
not  move — not  move!"  he  said  softly  above  her. 
"My  missy  sahib  not  going  to  be  hurt.  Peter 
taking  care  of  Missy  sahib.1' 

And,  with  glassy  eyes  fixed  and  white  lips  rigid, 
Tessa's  strained  whisper  came  in  answer.  ' '  O  Lord, 
don't  let  it  bite  me!" 

Tommy  would  have  flung  himself  forward  then, 
but  Bernard  caught  and  held  him.  He  had  seen 
the  look  in  the  Indian's  eyes,  and  he  knew  beyond 
all  doubting  that  Tessa  was  safe,  if  any  human 
power  could  make  her  so. 

Stella  knew  it  also.  In  that  moment  Peter 
loomed  gigantic  to  her.  His  gleaming  eyes  and 
strangely  smiling  face  held  her  spellbound  with  a 
fascination  greater  even  than  that  wicked,  vibrat- 
ing thing  that  coiled,  black  and  evil,  on  the  white 
of  Tessa's  frock  could  command.  She  knew  that  if 
none  intervened,  Peter  would  accomplish  Tessa's 
deliverance. 

But  there  was  one  factor  which  they  had  all  for- 
gotten. In  those  tense  seconds  Scooter  the  mon- 
goose by  some  means  invisible  became  aware  of  the 
presence  of  the  enemy.  The  lid  of  his  box  had 
already  been  loosened  by  Peter.  With  a  frantic 
effort  he  forced  it  up  and  leapt  free. 

In  that  mo.nent  Peter,  realizing  that  another 
instant's  delay  might  be  fatal,  pounced  forward 
with  a  single  swift  swoop  and  seized  the  serpent 
in  his  naked  hands. 

Tessa  uttered  the  shriek  which  a  few  seconds 


376       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

before  sheer  horror  had  arrested,  and  fell  back 
senseless  in  her  chair. 

Peter,  grim  and  awful  in  the  uncertain  light, 
fought  the  thing  he  had  gripped,  while  a  small, 
red-eyed  monster  clawed  its  way  up  him,  fiercely 
clambering  to  reach  the  horrible,  writhing  creature 
in  the  man's  hold. 

It  was  all  over  in  a  few  hard-breathing  seconds, 
over  before  either  of  the  men  in  front  of  Peter  or  a 
shadowy  figure  behind  him  that  had  come  up  at 
Tessa's  cry  could  give  any  help. 

With  a  low  laugh  that  was  more  terrible  than 
any  uttered  curse,  Peter  flung  the  coiling  horror 
over  the  verandah-rail  into  the  bushes  of  the  com- 
pound. Something  else  went  with  it,  closely 
locked.  They  heard  the  thud  of  the  fall,  and 
there  followed  an  awful,  voiceless  struggling  in 
the  darkness. 

"Peter!"  a  voice  said. 

Peter  was  leaning  against  a  post  of  the  verandah. 
"Missy  sahib  is  quite  safe,"  he  said,  but  his  voice 
sounded  odd,  curiously  lifeless. 

The  shadow  that  had  approached  behind  him 
swept  forward  into  the  light.  The  lanterns  shone 
upon  a  strange  figure,  bent,  black-bearded,  clothed 
in  a  long,  dingy  garment  that  seemed  to  envelop 
it  from  head  to  foot. 

Peter  gave  a  violent  start  and  spoke  a  few  rapid 
words  in  his  own  language. 

The  other  made  answer  even  more  swiftly,  and 
in  a  second  there  was  the  flash  of  a  knife  in  the 


The  Surprise  Party  377 

fitful  glare.  Bernard  and  Tommy  both  started 
forward,  but  Peter  only  thrust  out  one  arm  with  a 
grunt.  It  was  a  gesture  of  submission,  and  it  told 
its  own  tale. 

"The  poor  devil's  bitten!"  gasped  Tommy. 

Bernard  turned  to  Tessa  and  lifted  the  little  limp 
body  in  his  arms. 

He  thought  that  Stella  would  follow  him  as 
he  bore  the  child  into  the  room  behind,  but  she 
did  not. 

The  place  was  in  semi-darkness,  for  they  had 
turned  down  the  lamps  to  see  the  fireworks.  He 
laid  her  upon  a  sofa  and  turned  them  up  again. 

The  light  upon  her  face  showed  it  pinched  and 
deathly.  Her  breathing  seemed  to  be  suspended. 
He  left  her  and  went  swiftly  to  the  dining-room 
in  search  of  brandy. 

Returning  with  it,  he  knelt  beside  her,  forcing 
a  little  between  the  rigid  white  lips.  His  own 
mouth  was  grimly  compressed.  The  sight  of  his 
little  playfellow  lying  like  that  cut  him  to  the  soul. 
She  was  uninjured,  he  knew,  but  he  asked  himself 
if  the  awful  fright  had  killed  her.  He  had  never 
seen  so  death-like  a  swoon  before. 

He  had  no  further  thought  for  what  was  passing 
on  the  verandah  outside.  Tommy  had  said  that 
Peter  was  bitten,  but  there  were  three  people  to 
look  after  him,  whereas  Tessa — poor  brave  mite — 
had  only  himself.  He  chafed  her  icy  cheeks  and 
hands  with  a  desperate  sense  of  impotence. 

He  was  rewarded  after  what  seemed  to  him  an 


378        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

endless  period  of  suspense.  A  tinge  of  colour  came 
into  the  white  lips,  and  the  closed  eyelids  quivered 
and  slowly  opened.  The  bluebell  eyes  gazed 
questioningly  into  his. 

"Where — where  is  Scooter?"  whispered  Tessa. 

"Not  far  away,  dear,"  he  made  answer  sooth- 
ingly. "We  will  go  and  find  him  presently. 
Drink  another  little  drain  of  this  first ! " 

She  obeyed  him  almost  mechanically.  The 
shadow  of  a  great  horror  still  lingered  in  her 
eyes.  He  gathered  her  closely  to  him. 

"Try  and  get  a  little  sleep,  darling!  I'm  here. 
I'll  take  care  of  you. " 

She  snuggled  against  him.  "Am  I  going  to  stay 
all  night!"  she  asked. 

"Perhaps,  little  one,  perhaps!"  He  pressed 
her  closer  still.  "  Quite  comfy  ?" 

'  Oh,  very  comfy ;  ever — so — comfy, ' '  mur- 
mured Tessa,  closing  her  eyes  again.  "Dear — 
dear  Uncle  St.  Bernard!." 

She  sank  down  in  his  hold,  too  spent  to  trouble 
herself  any  further,  and  in  a  very  few  seconds  her 
quiet  breathing  told  him  that  she  was  fast  asleep. 

He  sat  very  still,  holding  her.  The  awful  peril 
through  which  she  had  come  had  made  her  tenfold 
more  precious  in  his  eyes.  He  could  not  have 
loved  her  more  tenderly  if  she  had  been  indeed  his 
own.  He  fell  to  dreaming  with  his  cheek  against 
her  hair. 


CHAPTER  VII 

RUST  AM  KARIN 

How  long  a  time  passed  he  never  knew.  It 
could  not  in  actual  fact  have  been  more  than  a  few 
minutes  when  a  sudden  sound  from  the  verandah 
put  an  end  to  his  reverie. 

He  laid  the  child  back  upon  the  sofa  and  got  up. 
She  was  sleeping  off  the  shock;  it  would  be  a  pity 
to  wake  her.  He  moved  noiselessly  to  the  window. 

As  he  did  so,  a  voice  he  scarcely  recognized — a 
woman's  voice — spoke,  tensely,  hoarsely,  close  to 
him. 

"Tommy,  stop  that  man!  Don't  let  him  go! 
He  is  a  murderer, — do  you  hear?  He  is  the  man 
who  murdered  my  husband!" 

Bernard  stepped  over  the  sill  and  closed  the 
window  after  him.  The  lanterns  were  still  sway- 
ing in  the  night-breeze.  By  their  light  he  took  in 
the  group  upon  the  verandah.  Peter  was  sitting 
bent  forward  in  the  chair  from  which  he  had  lifted 
Tessa.  His  snowy  garments  were  deeply  stained 
with  blood.  Beside  him  in  a  crouched  and  ape- 
like attitude,  apparently  on  the  point  of  depart- 
ure, was  the  shadowy  native  who  had  saved  his 

379 


380       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

life.  Tommy,  still  fantastic  and  clown-like  in  his 
green  and  white  pyjama-suit,  was  holding  a  glass 
for  Peter  to  drink.  And  upright  before  them 
all,  with  accusing  arm  outstretched,  her  eyes 
shining  like  stars  out  of  the  shadows,  stood  Stella. 

She  turned  to  Bernard  as  he  came  forward. 
"Don't  let  him  escape!"  she  said,  her  voice  deep 
with  an  insistence  he  had  never  heard  in  it  before. 
"He  escaped  last  time.  And  there  may  not  be 
another  chance." 

Tommy  looked  round  sharply.  "Leave  the 
man  alone!"  he  said.  "You  don't  know  what 
you're  talking  about,  Stella.  This  affair  has  upset 
you.  It's  only  old  Rustam  Karin. " 

"I  know.  I  know.  I  have  known  for  a  long 
time  that  it  was  Rustam  Karin  who  killed  Ralph." 
Stella's  voice  vibrated  on  a  strange  note.  "He 
may  be  Everard's  chosen  friend, "  she  said.  ' '  But 
a  day  will  come  when  he  will  turn  upon  him  too. 
Bernard,"  she  spoke  with  sudden  appeal,  "you 
know  everything.  I  have  told  you  of  this  man. 
Surely  you  will  help  me!  I  have  made  no  mis- 
take. Peter  will  corroborate  what  I  say.  Ask 
Peter!" 

At  sound  of  his  name  Peter  Hf ted  a  ghastly  face 
and  tried  to  rise,  but  Tommy  swiftly  prevented 
him. 

"Sit  still,  Peter,  will  you?  You're  much  too 
shaky  to  walk.  Finish  this  stuff  first  anyhow!" 

Peter  sank  back,  but  there  was  entreaty  in  his 
gleaming  eyes.  They  had  bandaged  his  injured 


Rustam  Karin  381 

arm  across  his  breast,  but  with  his  free  hand  he 
made  a  humble  gesture  of  submission  to  his 
mistress. 

"  Mem- sahib"  he  said,  his  voice  low  and  urgent, 
"  he  is  a  good  man — a  holy  man.  Suffer  him  to  go 
his  way!" 

The  man  in  question  had  withdrawn  into  the 
shadows.  He  was  in  fact  beating  an  unobtrusive 
retreat  towards  the  corner  of  the  bungalow,  and 
would  probably  have  effected  his  escape  but  for 
Bernard,  who,  moved  by  the  anguished  entreaty 
in  Stella's  eyes,  suddenly  strode  forward  and 
gripped  him  by  his  tattered  garment. 

' '  No  harm  in  making  inquiries  anyway ! "  he  said. 
"Don't  you  be  in  such  a  hurry,  my  friend.  It 
won't  do  you  any  harm  to  come  back  and  give 
an  account  of  yourself — that  is,  if  you  are  harm- 
less." 

He  pulled  the  retreating  native  unceremoniously 
back  into  the  light.  The  man  made  some  re- 
sistance, but  there  was  a  mastery  about  Bernard 
that  would  not  be  denied.  Hobbling,  misshapen, 
muttering  in  his  beard,  he  returned. 

"Mem-sahib!1'  Again  Peter's  voice  spoke,  and 
there  was  a  break  in  it  as  though  he  pleaded  with 
Fate  itself  and  knew  it  to  be  in  vain.  "He  is  a 
good  man,  but  he  is  leprous.  Mem-sahib,  do  not 
look  upon  him !  Suffer  him  to  go ! " 

Possibly  the  words  might  have  had  effect,  for 
Stella's  rigidity  had  turned  to  a  violent  shivering 
and  it  was  evident  that  her  strength  was  beginning 


382       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

to  fail.  But  in  that  moment  Bernard  broke  into 
an  exclamation  of  most  unwonted  anger,  and 
ruthlessly  seized  the  ragged  wisp  of  black 
beard  that  hung  down  over  his  victim's  hollow 
chest. 

"This  is  too  bad!"  he  burst  forth  hotly.  "By 
heaven  it's  too  bad!  Man,  stop  this  tomfool 
mummery,  and  explain  yourself!" 

The  beard  came  away  in  his  indignant  hand. 
The  owner  thereof  straightened  himself  up  with  a 
contemptuous  gesture  till  he  reached  the  height  of 
a  tall  man.  The  enveloping  chuddah  slipped  back 
from  his  head. 

"I  am  not  the  fool, "  he  said  briefly. 

Stella's  cry  rang  through  the  verandah,  and  it 
was  Peter  who,  utterly  forgetful  of  his  own  adver- 
sity, leapt  up  like  a  faithful  hound  to  protect  her 
in  her  hour  of  need. 

The  glass  in  Tommy's  hand  fell  with  a  crash. 
Tommy  himself  staggered  back  as  if  he  had  been 
struck  a  blow  between  the  eyes. 

And  across  the  few  feet  that  divided  them  as  if  it 
had  been  a  yawning  gulf,  Everard  Monck  faced 
the  woman  who  had  denounced  him. 

He  did  not  utter  a  word.  His  eyes  met  hers 
unflinching.  They  were  wholly  without  anger, 
emotionless,  inscrutable.  But  there  was  some- 
thing terrible  behind  his  patience.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  bared  his  breast  for  her  to  strike. 

And  Stella — Stella  looked  upon  him  with  a 
frozen,  incredulous  horror,  just  as  Tessa  had  looked 


Rustam  Karin  383 

upon  the  snake  upon  her  lap  only  a  little  while 
before. 

In  the  dreadful  silence  that  hung  like  a  poisonous 
vapour  upon  them,  there  came  a  small  rustling 
close  to  them,  and  a  wicked  little  head  with  red, 
peering  eyes  showed  through  the  balustrade  of  the 
verandah. 

In  a  moment  Scooter  with  an  inexpressibly  evil 
air  of  satisfaction  slipped  through  and  scuttled  in  a 
zigzag  course  over  the  matting  in  search  of  fresh 
prey. 

It  was  then  that  Stella  spoke,  her  voice  no  more 
than  a  throbbing  whisper.  "Rustam  Karin!" 
she  said. 

Very  grimly  across  the  gulf,  Everard  made 
answer.  ' '  Rustam  Karin  was  removed  to  a  leper 
settlement  before  you  set  foot  in  India." 

"By — Jupiter!"  ejaculated  Tommy. 

No  one  else  spoke  till  slowly,  with  the  gesture 
of  an  old  and  stricken  woman,  Stella  turned  away. 
"I  must  think,"  she  said,  in  the  same  curious 
vibrating  whisper,  as  though  she  held  converse 
with  herself.  ' '  I  must — think. " 

No  one  attempted  to  detain  her.  It  was  as 
though  an  invisible  barrier  cut  her  off  from  all  but 
Peter.  He  followed  her  closely,  forgetful  of  his 
wound  .forgetful  of  everythingbut  her  pressingneed. 
With  dumb  devotion  he  went  after  her,  and  they  van- 
ished beyond  the  flicker  of  the  bobbing  lanterns. 

Of  the  three  men  left,  none  moved  or  spoke  for 
several  difficult  seconds.  Finally  Bernard,  with 


384       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

an  abrupt  gesture  that  seemed  to  express  exasper- 
ation, turned  sharply  on  his  heel  and  without  a 
word  re-entered  the  room  in  which  he  had  left 
Tessa  asleep,  and  fastened  the  window  behind  him. 
He  left  the  tangle  of  beard  on  the  matting,  and 
Scooter  stopped  and  nosed  it  sensitively  till  Ever- 
ard  stooped  and  picked  it  up. 

"That  show  being  over,"  he  remarked  drily, 
"perhaps  I  may  be  allowed  to  attend  to  business 
without  further  interference. " 

Tommy  gave  a  great  start  and  crunched  some 
splinters  of  the  shattered  glass  under  his  heel. 
He  looked  at  Everard  with  an  odd,  challenging 
light  in  his  eyes. 

"If  you  ask  me,"  he  said  bluntly,  "I  should 
say  your  business  here  is  more  urgent  than  your 
business  in  the  bazaar. " 

Everard  raised  his  brows  interrogatively,  and 
as  if  he  had  asked  a  question  Tommy  made  sternly 
resolute  response. 

"I've  got  to  have  a  talk  with  you.  Shall  I  come 
into  your  room?" 

Just  for  a  second  the  elder  man  paused;  then: 
"Are  you  sure  that  is  the  wisest  thing  you  can 
do?"  he  said. 

"It's  what  I'm  going  to  do, "  said  Tommy  firmly. 

"All  right."  Everard  stooped  again,  picked 
up  the  inquiring  Scooter,  and  dropped  him  into 
the  box  in  which  he  had  spent  the  evening. 

Then  without  more  words,  he  turned  along  the 
verandah  and  led  the  way  to  his  own  room. 


Rustam  Karin  385 

Tommy  came  close  behind.  He  was  trembling 
a  little  but  his  agitation  only  seemed  to  make  him 
more  determined. 

He  paused  a  moment  as  he  entered  the  room 
behind  Everard  to  shut  the  window;  then  valiantly 
tackled  the  hardest  task  that  had  ever  come  his 
way. 

* '  Look  here ! "  he  said.  ' '  You  must  see  that  this 
thing  can't  be  left  where  it  is." 

Everard  threw  off  the  garment  that  encumbered 
him  and  gravely  faced  his  young  brother-in-law. 

"Yes,  I  do  see  that,"  he  said.  "I  seem  to 
have  exhausted  my  credit  all  round.  It's  decent 
of  you,  Tommy,  to  have  been  as  forbearing  as  you 
have.  Now  what  is  it  you  want  to  know?" 

Tommy  confronted  him  uncompromisingly.  ' '  I 
want  to  know  the  truth,  that's  all,"  he  said. 
"Can't  you  stop  this  dust-throwing  business  and 
be  straight  with  me?" 

His  tone  was  stubborn,  his  attitude  almost 
hostile.  Yet  beneath  it  all  there  ran  a  vein 
of  something  that  was  very  like  entreaty.  And 
Everard,  steadily  watching  him,  smiled — the  faint 
grim  smile  of  the  fighter  who  sees  a  gap  in  his 
enemy's  defences. 

"I'm  afraid  not,"  he  said.  "I  don't  want  to 
be  brutal,  but — you  see,  Tommy — it's  not  your 
business." 

Tommy  flinched  a  little,  but  he  stood  his  ground. 
"I  think  you're  forgetting,"  he  said,  "  that  Stella 
is  my  sister.  It's  up  to  me  to  protect  her." 


386       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"From  me?"  Everard's  words  came  swift  and 
sharp  as  a  sword-thrust. 

Tommy  turned  suddenly  white,  but  he  straight- 
ened himself  with  a  gesture  that  was  not  without 
dignity.  "If  necessary — yes,  "  he  said. 

An  abrupt  silence  followed  his  words.  They 
stood  facing  each  other,  and  the  stillness  between 
them  was  such  that  they  could  hear  Scooter  be- 
yond the  closed  window  scratching  against  his 
prison-walls  for  freedom. 

It  seemed  endless  to  Tommy.  He  came  through 
it  unfaltering,  but  he  felt  physically  sick,  as  if  he 
had  been  struck  in  the  back. 

When  Everard  spoke  at  last,  his  hands  clenched 
involuntarily.  He  half  expected  violence.  But 
there  was  no  hint  of  anger  about  the  elder  man. 
He  had  himself  under  iron  control.  His  face  was 
flint-like  in  its  composure,  his  mouth  implacably 
grim. 

"Thanks  for  the  warning!"  he  said  briefly. 
"It's  just  as  well  to  know  how  we  stand.  Is  that 
all  you  wanted  to  say?" 

The  dismissal  was  as  definite  as  if  he  had  actu- 
ally seized  and  thrown  him  out  of  the  room.  And 
yet  there  was  not  even  suppressed  wrath  in  his 
speech.  It  was  indifferent,  remote  as  a  voice 
from  the  desert-distance.  His  eyes  looked  upon 
Tommy  without  interest  or  any  sort  of  warmth, 
as  though  he  had  been  a  total  stranger. 

In  that  moment  Tommy  saw  that  sacred  thing, 
their  friendship,  shattered  and  lying  in  the  dust. 


Rustam  Karin  387 

It  was  not  he  who  had  flung  it  there,  yet  his  soul 
cried  out  in  bitter  self-reproach.  This  was  the 
man  who  had  been  closer  to  him  than  a  brother, 
the  man  who  had  saved  him  from  disaster  physi- 
cally and  morally,  watching  over  him  with  a  grim 
tenderness  that  nothing  had  ever  changed. 

And  now  it  was  all  done  with.  There  was 
nothing  left  but  to  turn  and  go. 

But  could  he?  He  stood  irresolute,  biting  his 
lips,  held  there  by  a  force  that  seemed  outside 
himself.  And  it  was  Everard  who  made  the  first 
move,  turning  from  him  as  if  he  had  ceased  to 
count  and  pulling  out  a  note-book  that  he  always 
carried  to  make  some  entry. 

Tommy  stood  yet  a  moment  longer  as  if,  had  it 
been  possible,  he  would  have  broken  through  the 
barrier  between  them  even  then.  But  Everard 
did  not  so  much  as  glance  in  his  direction,  and  the 
moment  passed. 

In  utter  silence  he  turned  and  went  out  as  he 
had  entered.  There  was  nothing  more  to  be  said. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

PETER 

TESSA  went  back  to  the  Ralstons'  bungalow  that 
night  borne  in  Bernard's  arms.  She  knew  very 
little  about  it,  for  she  scarcely  awoke,  only  dimly 
realizing  that  her  friend  was  at  hand.  Tommy 
went  with  them,  carrying  Scooter.  He  said  he 
must  show  himself  at  the  Club,  though  Bernard 
suspected  this  to  be  merely  an  excuse  for  escaping 
for  a  time  from  The  Green  Bungalow.  For  it  was 
evident  that  Tommy  had  had  a  shock. 

He  himself  was  merely  angry  at  what  appeared 
to  him  a  wanton  trick,  too  angry  to  trust  himself 
in  his  brother's  company  just  then.  He  regarded 
it  as  no  part  of  his  business  to  attempt  to  intervene 
between  Everard  and  his  wife,  but  his  sympathies 
were  all  with  the  latter.  That  she  in  some  fashion 
misconstrued  the  whole  affair  he  could  not  doubt, 
but  he  was  by  no  means  sure  that  Everard  had  not 
deliberately  schemed  for  some  species  of  misunder- 
standing. He  had,  to  serve  his  own  ends,  person- 
ated a  man  who  was  apparently  known  to  be 
disreputable,  and  if  he  now  received  the  credit  for 
that  man's  misdeeds  he  had  himself  alone  to  thank. 
388 


Peter  389 

Obviously  a  mistake  had  been  made,  but  it  seemed 
to  him  that  Everard  had  intended  it  to  be  made, 
had  even  worked  to  bring  it  about.  What  his 
object  had  been  Bernard  could  not  bring  to  con- 
jecture. But  his  instinctive,  inborn  hatred  of  all 
underhand  dealings  made  him  resent  his  brother's 
behaviour  with  all  the  force  at  his  command.  He 
was  too  angry  to  attempt  to  unravel  the  mystery, 
and  he  did  not  broach  the  subject  to  Tommy  who 
evidently  desired  to  avoid  it. 

The  whole  business  was  beyond  his  compre- 
hension and,  he  was  convinced,  beyond  Stella's 
also.  He  did  not  think  Everard  would  find  it  a 
very  easy  task  to  restore  her  confidence.  Perhaps 
he  would  not  attempt  to  do  so.  Perhaps  he  was 
too  engrossed  with  the  service  of  his  goddess  to  care 
that  he  and  his  wife  should  drift  asunder.  And  yet 
— the  memory  of  the  morning  on  which  he  had  first 
seen  those  streaks  of  grey  in  his  brother's  hair  came 
upon  him,  and  an  unwilling  sensation  of  pity  soft- 
ened his  severity.  Perhaps  he  had  been  drawn  in 
in  spite  of  himself.  Perhaps  the  poor  beggar  was  a 
victim  rather  than  a  worshipper.  Most  certainly 
— whatever  his  faults — he  cared  deeply. 

Would  he  be  able  to  make  Stella  realize  that? 
Bernard  wondered,  and  shook  his  head  in  doubt. 

The  thought  of  Stella  turning  away  with  that 
look  of  frozen  horror  on  her  face  pursued  him 
through  the  night.  Poor  girl !  She  had  looked  as 
though  the  end  of  all  things  had  come  for  her. 
Could  he  have  helped  her  ?  Ought  he  to  have  left 


390       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

her  so?  He  quickened  his  pace  almost  insensibly. 
No,  he  would  not  interfere  of  his  own  free  will. 
But  if  she  needed  his  support,  if  she  counted  upon 
him,  he  would  not  be  found  wanting.  It  might 
even  be  given  to  him  eventually  to  help  them  both. 

He  had  not  seen  her  again.  She  had  gone  to  her 
room  with  Peter  in  attendance,  Peter  who  owed 
his  life  to  the  knife  in  Everard's  girdle.  He  had 
had  a  strong  feeling  that  Peter  was  the  only  friend 
she  needed  just  then,  and  certainly  Tessa  had  been 
his  first  responsibility.  But  the  feeling  that  pos- 
sibly she  might  need  him  was  growing  upon  him. 
He  wished  he  had  satisfied  himself  before  starting 
that  this  was  not  the  case.  But  he  comforted 
himself  with  the  thought  of  Peter.  He  was  sure 
that  Peter  would  take  care  of  her. 

Yes,  Peter  would  care  for  his  beloved  mem-sahib, 
whatever  his  physical  disabilities.  He  would 
never  fail  in  the  execution  of  that  his  sacred  duty 
while  the  power  to  do  so  was  his.  If  all  others 
failed  her,  yet  would  Peter  remain  faithful.  Even 
then  with  his  dog-like  devotion  was  he  crouched 
upon  her  threshold,  his  dark  face  wrapped  in  his 
garment,  yet  alert  for  every  sound  and  mournfully 
aware  that  his  mistress  was  not  resting.  Of  his 
own  wound  he  thought  not  at  all.  He  had  been 
very  near  the  gate  of  death,  and  the  only  man  in 
the  world  for  whom  he  entertained  the  smallest 
feeling  of  fear  had  snatched  him  back.  To  his 
promptitude  alone  did  Peter  owe  his  life.  He  had 
cut  out  that  deadly  bite  with  a  swiftness  and  a  pre- 


Peter  391 

cision  that  had  removed  all  danger  of  snake-poison, 
and  in  so  doing  he  had  exposed  the  secret  which  he 
had  guarded  so  long  and  so  carefully.  The  first 
moment  of  contact  had  betrayed  him  to  Peter, 
but  Peter  was  very  loyal.  Had  he  been  the  only 
one  to  recognize  him,  the  secret  would  have  been 
safe.  He  had  done  his  best  to  guard  it,  but  Fate 
had  been  against  them.  And  the  mem-sahib — the 
mem-sahib  had  turned  and  gone  away  as  one 
heart-broken. 

Peter  yearned  to  comfort  her,  but  the  whole 
situation  was  beyond  him.  He  could  only  mount 
guard  in  silence.  Perhaps — presently — the  great 
sahib  himself  would  come,  and  make  all  things 
right  again.  The  night  was  advancing.  Surely 
he  would  come  soon. 

Barely  had  he  begun  to  hope  for  this  when  the 
door  he  guarded  was  opened  slightly  from  within. 
His  mem-sahib,  strangely  white  and  still,  looked 
forth. 

' '  Peter ! ' '  she  said  gently. 

He  was  up  in  a  moment,  bending  before  her,  his 
black  eyes  glowing  in  the  dim  light. 

She  laid  her  slender  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  She 
had  ever  treated  him  with  the  graciousness  of  a 
queen.  "How  is  your  wound?"  she  asked  him  in 
her  soft,  low  voice.  ' '  Has  it  been  properly  bathed 
and  dressed?" 

He  straightened  himself,  looking  into  her  beauti- 
ful pale  face  with  the  loving  reverence  that  he 
always  accorded  her.  "All  is  well,  my  mem-sahib, " 


392       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

he  said.  "Will  you  not  be  graciously  pleased  to 
rest?" 

She  shook  her  head,  smiling  faintly — a  smile 
that  somehow  tore  his  heart.  She  opened  her  door 
and  motioned  him  to  enter.  ' '  I  think  I  had  better 
see  for  myself,"  she  said.  "Poor  Peter!  How 
you  must  have  suffered,  and  how  splendidly  brave 
you  are !  Come  in  and  let  me  see  what  I  can  do ! " 

He  hung  back  protesting;  but  she  would  take 
no  refusal,  gently  but  firmly  overruling  all  his 
scruples. 

"Why  was  the  doctor  not  sent  for?"  she  said. 
"I  ought  to  have  thought  of  it  myself. " 

She  insisted  upon  washing  and  bandaging  his 
wound  anew.  It  was  a  deep  one.  Necessity  had 
been  stern,  and  Everard  had  not  spared.  It  had 
bled  freely,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  any  poisonous 
swelling.  With  tender  hands  Stella  treated  it, 
Peter  standing  dumbly  submissive  the  while. 

When  she  had  finished,  she  arranged  the  injured 
arm  in  a  sling,  and  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"Peter,  where  is  the  captain  sahib?" 

"He  went  to  his  room,  my  mem-sahib,"  said 
Peter.  "Bernard  sahib  carried  the  little  missy 
sahib  back,  and  Denvers  sahib  went  with  him.  I 
did  not  see  the  captain  sahib  again. " 

He  spoke  wistfully,  as  one  who  longed  to  help 
but  recognized  his  limitations. 

Stella  received  his  news  in  silence,  her  face  still 
and  white  as  the  face  of  a  marble  statue.  She 
felt  no  resentment  against  Peter.  He  had  acted 


Peter  393 

almost  under  compulsion.  But  she  could  not  dis- 
cuss the  matter  with  him. 

At  length:  "You  may  go,  Peter,"  she  said. 
"Please  let  no  one  come  to  my  door  to-night!  I 
wish  to  be  undisturbed. " 

Peter  salaamed  low  and  withdrew.  The  order 
was  a  very  definite  one,  and  she  knew  she  could 
rely  upon  him  to  carry  it  out.  As  the  door  closed 
softly  upon  him,  she  turned  towards  her  window. 
It  opened  upon  the  verandah.  She  moved  across 
the  room  to  shut  it ;  but  ere  she  reached  it,  Everard 
Monck  came  noiselessly  through  on  slippered  feet 
and  bolted  it  behind  him. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  CONSUMING  FIRE 

As  he  turned  towards  her,  there  came  upon 
Stella,  swift  as  a  stab  through  the  heart,  the 
memory  of  that  terrible  night  more  than  a  year 
before  when  he  had  drawn  her  into  his  room  and 
fastened  the  window  behind  her — against  whom? 
His  wild  words  rushed  upon  her.  She  had  deemed 
them  to  be  directed  against  the  unknown  intruder 
on  the  verandah.  She  knew  now  that  the  mad- 
ness that  had  loosed  his  tongue  had  moved  him  to 
utter  his  fierce  threat  against  a  man  who  was  dead 
— against  the  man  whom  he  had —  She  stopped 
the  thought  as  she  would  have  checked  the  word 
half -spoken.  She  turned  shivering  away.  The  man 
on  the  verandah,  that  vision  of  the  night-watches, 
she  saw  it  all  now — she  saw  it  all.  And  he  had 
loved  her  before  her  marriage.  And  he  had  known 
— and  he  had  known — that,  given  opportunity,  he 
could  win  her  for  his  own. 

Like  a  throbbing  undersong — the  fiendish  ac- 
companiment to  the  devils'  chorus — the  gossip 
of  the  station  as  detailed  by  Tessa  ran  with  glib 
mockery  through  her  brain.  Ah,  they  only  sus- 
394 


The  Consuming  Fire          395 

pec  ted.  But  she  knew — she  knew!  The  door  of 
that  secret  chamber  had  opened  wide  to  her  at  last, 
and  perforce  she  had  entered  in. 

He  had  moved  forward,  but  he  had  not  spoken. 
At  least  she  fancied  not,  but  all  her  senses  were  in 
an  uproar.  And  above  it  all  she  seemed  to  hear 
that  dreadful  little  thrumming  instrument  down  by 
the  river  at  Udalkhand — the  tinkling,  mystic  call 
of  the  vampire  goddess, — India  the  insatiable  who 
had  made  him  what  he  was. 

He  came  to  her,  and  every  fibre  of  her  being  was 
aware  of  him  and  thrilled  at  his  coming.  Never 
had  she  loved  him  as  she  loved  him  then,  but  her 
love  was  a  fiery  torment  that  burned  and  consumed 
her  soul.  She  seemed  to  feel  it  blistering,  shrivel- 
ling, in  the  cruel  heat. 

Almost  before  she  knew  it,  she  had  broken  her 
silence,  speaking  as  it  were  in  spite  of  herself, 
scarcely  knowing  in  her  anguish  what  she  said. 

"Yes,  I  know.  I  know  what  you  are  going  to 
say.  You  are  going  to  tell  me  that  I  belong  to  you. 
And  of  course  it  is  true, — I  do.  But  if  I  stay  with 
you,  I  shall  be — a  murderess.  Nothing  will  alter 
that." 

"Stella!  "he  said. 

His  voice  was  stern,  so  stern  that  she  flinched. 
He  laid  his  hand  upon  her,  and  she  shrank  as  she 
would  have  shrunk  from  a  hot  iron  searing  her 
flesh.  She  had  a  wild  thought  that  she  would  bear 
the  brand  of  it  for  ever. 

"Stella,"  he  said  again,  and  in  both  tone  and 


396       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

action  there  was  compulsion.  ' '  I  have  come  to  tell 
you  that  you  are  making  a  mistake.  I  am  inno- 
cent of  this  thing  you  suspect  me  of.  '* 

She  stood  unresisting  in  his  hold,  but  she  was 
shaking  all  over.  The  floor  seemed  to  be  rising 
and  falling  under  her  feet.  She  knew  that  her  lips 
moved  several  times  before  she  could  make  them 
speak. 

"But  I  don't  suspect,"  she  said.  "The  others 
suspect.  I — know." 

He  received  her  words  in  silence.  She  saw  his 
face  as  through  a  shifting  vapour,  very  pale,  very 
determined,  with  eyes  of  terrible  intensity  domi- 
nating her  own. 

Half  mechanically  she  repeated  herself.  It  was 
as  if  that  devilish  thrumming  in  her  brain  com- 
pelled her.  "The  others  suspect.  I — know." 

"I  see,"  he  said  at  last.  "And  nothing  I  can 
say  will  make  any  difference?" 

"Oh,  no!"  she  made  answer,  and  scarcely  knew 
that  she  spoke,  so  cold  and  numb  had  she  become. 
' '  How  could  it — now  ? ' ' 

He  looked  at  her,  and  suddenly  he  saw  that  to 
which  his  own  suffering  had  momentarily  blinded 
him.  He  saw  her  utter  weakness.  With  a  swif 
passionate  movement  he  caught  her  to  him.  For  a 
second  or  two  he  held  her  so,  strained  against  his 
heart,  then  almost  fiercely  he  turned  her  face  up 
to  his  own  and  kissed  the  stiff  white  lips. 

"Be  it  so  then!"  he  said,  and  in  his  voice  was  a 
deep  note  as  though  he  challenged  all  the  powers 


The  Consuming  Fire          397 

of  evil.  "You  are  mine — and  mine  you  will 
remain. " 

She  did  not  resist  him  though  the  touch  of  his 
lips  was  terrible  to  her.  Only  as  they  left  her  own, 
she  turned  her  face  aside.  Very  strangely  that 
savage  lapse  of  his  had  given  her  strength. 

"Physically — perhaps — but  only  for  a  little 
while, "  she  said  gaspingly.  "And  in  spirit,  never 
— never  again!" 

"What  do  you  mean? "  he  said,  his  arms  tighten- 
ing about  her. 

She  kept  her  face  averted.  "I  mean — that 
some  forms  of  torture  are  worse  than  death.  If  it 
comes  to  that — if  you  compel  me — I  shall  choose 
death." 

"Stella!"  He  let  her  go  so  suddenly  that  she 
nearly  fell.  The  utterance  of  her  name  was  as  a 
cry  wrung  from  him  by  sheer  agony.  He  turned 
from  her  with  his  hands  over  his  face.  ' '  My  God ! ' ' 
he  said,  and  again  almost  inarticulately,  "My — 
God!" 

The  low  utterance  pierced  her,  yet  she  stood 
motionless,  her  hands  gripped  hard  together.  He 
had  forced  the  words  from  her,  and  they  were  past 
recall.  Nor  would  she  have  recalled  them,  had 
she  been  able,  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  her  love 
had  become  an  evil  thing,  and  her  whole  being 
shrank  from  it  in  a  species  of  horrified  abhorrence, 
even  though  she  could  not  cast  it  out. 

He  had  turned  towards  the  window,  and  she 
watched  him,  her  heart  beating  in  slow,  hard 


398       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

strokes  with  a  sound  like  a  distant  drum.  Would 
he  go?  Would  he  remain?  She  almost  prayed 
aloud  that  he  would  go. 

But  he  did  not.  Very  suddenly  he  turned  and 
strode  back  to  her.  There  was  purpose  in  every 
line  of  him,  but  there  was  no  longer  any  violence. 

He  halted  before  her.  ' '  Stella, ' '  he  said,  and  his 
voice  was  perfectly  steady  and  controlled,  "do  you 
think  you  are  being  altogether  fair  to  me? " 

She  wrung  her  clasped  hands.  She  could  not 
answer  him. 

He  took  them  into  his  own  very  quietly.  "Just 
look  me  in  the  face  for  a  minute!"  he  said. 

She  yearned  to  disobey,  but  she  could  not. 
Dumbly  she  raised  her  eyes  to  his.  ' 

He  waited  a  moment,  very  still  and  composed. 
Then  he  spoke.  "Stella,  I  swear  to  you — and  I 
call  God  to  witness — that  I  did  not  kill  Ralph 
Dacre." 

A  dreadful  shiver  went  through  her  at  the  bald 
brief  words.  She  felt,  as  Tommy  had  felt  a  little 
earlier,  physically  sick.  The  beating  of  her  heart 
was  getting  slower  and  slower.  She  wondered  if 
presently  it  would  stop. 

"Do  you  believe  me?"  he  said,  still  holding  her 
eyes  with  his,  still  clasping  her  icy  hands  firmly 
between  his  own. 

She  forced  herself  to  speak  before  that  horrible 
sense  of  nausea  overcame  her.  "Perhaps — David 
— said  the  same  thing — about  Uriah  the  Hittite. " 

His  face  changed  a  little,  but  it  was  a  change  she 


The  Consuming  Fire          399 

could  not  have  defined.  His  eyes  remained  inscru- 
tably fixed  upon  hers.  They  seemed  to  enchain 
her  quivering  soul. 

"No,"  he  said  quietly.  "Nor  did  I  employ 
any  one  else  to  do  it. " 

' '  But  you  were  there ! ' '  The  words  seemed  sud- 
denly to  burst  from  her  without  her  own  volition. 

He  drew  back  sharply,  as  if  he  had  been  struck. 
But  he  kept  his  eyes  upon  hers.  "I  can't  explain 
anything,"  he  said.  "I  am  not  here  to  explain. 
I  only  came  to  see  if  your  love  was  great  enough 
to  make  you  believe  in  me — in  spite  of  all  there 
seems  to  be  against  me.  Is  it,  Stella?  Is  it?" 

His  words  seemed  to  go  through  her,  tearing  a 
way  to  her  heart;  the  agony  was  more  than  she 
could  bear.  She  uttered  an  anguished  cry,  and 
wrenched  herself  from  him.  "It  isn't  a  question 
of  love ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  You  know  it  isn't  a  question 
of  love!  I  never  wanted  to  love  you.  I  never 
wholly  trusted  you.  But  you  forced  my  love — 
though  you  couldn't  compel  my  trust.  And  now 
that  I  know — now  that  I  know — "  her  voice  broke 
as  if  the  torture  were  too  great  for  her ;  she  flung  out 
her  hands  with  a  gesture  of  driving  him  from  her — 
"oh,  it  is  hell  on  earth — hell  on  earth !" 

He  drew  back  for  a  second  before  her,  his  face 
deathly  white.  And  then  suddenly  an  awful  light 
leapt  in  his  eyes.  He  gripped  her  outflung  hands. 
The  fire  had  kindled  to  a  flame  and  the  torture  was 
too  much  for  him  also. 

"Then  you  shall  love  me — even  in  hell!"  he 


400        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

said,  through  his  clenched  teeth,  and  locked  her 
in  the  iron  circle  of  his  arms. 

She  did  not  resist  him.  She  was  very  near  the 
end  of  her  strength.  Only,  as  he  held  her,  her 
eyes  met  his,  mutely  imploring  him.  .  .  . 

It  reached  him  even  in  his  madness,  that  un- 
spoken appeal.  It  checked  him  in  the  mid-furnace 
of  his  passion.  His  hold  relaxed  as  if  at  a  word  of 
command.  He  put  her  into  a  chair  and  turned 
himself  from  her. 

The  next  moment  he  was  fumbling  desperately 
at  the  window  fastening.  The  night  met  him  on 
the  threshold.  He  heard  her  weeping,  piteously, 
hopelessly, ,  as  he  went  away. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  DESERT  PLACE 

A  SINGLE  light  shone  across  the  verandah  when 
Bernard  Monck  returned  late  in  the  night.  It 
drew  his  steps  though  it  did  not  come  from  any 
of  the  sitting-rooms.  With  the  light  tread  often 
characteristic  of  heavy  men,  he  approached  it, 
realizing  only  at  the  last  moment  that  it  came 
from  the  window  of  his  brother's  room. 

Then  for  a  second  he  hesitated.  He  was  angry 
with  Everard,  more  angry  than  he  could  remember 
that  he  had  ever  been  before.  He  questioned  with 
himself  as  to  the  wisdom  of  seeing  him  again  that 
night.  He  doubted  if  he  could  be  ordinarily  civil 
to  him  at  present,  and  a  quarrel  would  help  no  one. 

Still  why  was  the  fellow  burning  a  light  at  that 
hour?  An  unacknowledged  uneasiness  took  pos- 
session of  him  and  drove  him  forward.  People 
seemed  to  do  all  manner  of  extravagant  things  in 
this  fantastic  country  that  they  would  never  have 
dreamed  of  doing  in  homely  old  England.  There 
must  be  something  electric  in  the  atmosphere 
that  penetrated  the  veins.  Even  he  had  been 
aware  of  it  now  and  then,  a  strange  and  potent 
influence  that  drove  a  man  to  passionate  deeds. 

»3  401 


402       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  reached  the  window  without  sound  just  as 
Stella  had  reached  it  on  that  night  of  rain  long  ago. 
With  no  consciousness  of  spying,  driven  by  an 
urgent  impulse  he  could  not  stop  to  question,  he 
looked  in. 

The  window  was  ajar,  as  if  it  had  been  pushed 
to  negligently  by  someone  entering,  and  in  a  flash 
Bernard  had  it  wide.  He  went  in  as  though  he 
had  been  propelled. 

A  man — Everard — was  standing  half-dressed 
in  the  middle  of  the  room.  He  was  facing  the 
window,  and  the  light  shone  with  ghastly  distinct- 
ness upon  his  face.  But  he  did  not  look  up.  He 
was  gazing  fixedly  into  a  glass  of  water  he  held  in 
his  hand,  apparently  watching  some  minute  sub- 
stance melting  there. 

It  was  not  the  thing  he  held,  but  the  look  upon 
his  face,  that  sent  Bernard  forward  with  a 
spring.  "Man!"  he  burst  forth.  "What  are  you 
doing?" 

Everard  gave  utterance  to  a  fierce  oath  that  was 
more  like  the  cry  of  a  savage  animal  than  the  articu- 
late speech  of  a  man.  He  stepped  back  sharply, 
and  put  the  glass  to  his  lips.  But  no  drop  that  it 
contained  did  he  swallow,  for  in  the  same  instant 
Bernard  flung  it  violently  aside.  The  glass  spun 
across  the  room,  and  they  grappled  together  for  the 
mastery.  For  a  few  seconds  the  battle  was  hot; 
then  very  suddenly  the  elder  man  threw  up  his 
hands. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  between  short  gasps  for 


The  Desert  Place  4°3 

breath.  "You  can  hammer  me — if  you  want 
someone  to  hammer.  Perhaps — it'll  do  you  good. " 

He  was  free  on  the  instant.  Everard  flung 
round  and  turned  his  back.  He  did  not  speak,  but 
crossed  the  room  and  picked  up  the  glass  which 
lay  unbroken  on  the  floor. 

Bernard  followed  him,  still  gasping  for  breath. 
"Give  that  to  me!"  he  said. 

His  soft  voice  was  oddly  stern.  Everard  looked 
at  him.  His  hand,  shaking  a  little,  was  extended. 
After  a  very  definite  pause,  he  placed  the  glass 
within  it.  There  was  a  little  white  sediment  left 
with  a  drain  of  water  at  the  bottom.  With  his 
blue  eyes  full  upon  his  brother's  face,  Bernard 
lifted  it  to  his  own  lips. 

But  the  next  instant  it  was  dashed  away,  and 
the  glass  shivered  to  atoms  against  the  wall. 
' '  You — fool ! ' '  Everard  said. 

A  faint,  faint  smile  that  very  strangely  pro- 
claimed a  resemblance  between  them  which  was 
very  seldom  perceptible  crossed  Bernard's  face. 
"I — thought  so,"  he  said.  "Now  look  here,  boy! 
Let's  stop  being  melodramatic  for  a  bit !  Take  a 
dose  of  quinine  instead!  It  seems  to  be  the  pana- 
cea for  all  evils  in  this  curious  country. " 

His  voice  was  perfectly  kind,  even  persusaive, 
but  it  carried  a  hint  of  authority  as  well,  and 
Everard  gave  him  a  keen  look  as  if  aware  of  it. 

He  was  very  pale  but  absolutely  steady  as  he 
made  reply.  "I  don't  think  quinine  will  meet 
the  case  on  this  occasion. " 


404       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"You  prefer  another  kind  of  medicine, "  Bernard 
suggested.  And  then  with  sudden  feeling  he  held 
out  his  hand.  "Everard,  old  chap,  never  do  that 
while  you've  a  single  friend  left  in  the  world !  Do 
you  want  to  break  my  heart?  I  only  ask  to  stand 
by  you.  I'll  stand  by  you  to  the  very  gates  of 
hell.  Don't  you  know  that?". 

His  voice  trembled  slightly.  Everard  turned  and 
gripped  the  proffered  hand  hard  in  his  own. 

"I  suppose  I — might  have  known,"  he  said. 
"But  it's  a  bit  rash  of  you  all  the  same. " 

His  own  voice  quivered  though  he  forced  a  smile. 
He  would  have  turned  away,  but  Bernard  re- 
strained him. 

"I  don't  care  a  tinker's  damn  what  you've 
done,"  he  said  forcibly.  "Remember  that! 
We're  brothers,  and  I'll  stick  to  you.  If  there's 
anything  in  life  that  I  can  do  to  help,  I'll  do  it. 
If  there  isn't,  well,  I  won't  worry  you,  but  you 
know  you  can  count  on  me  just  the  same.  You'll 
never  stand  alone  while  I  live." 

It  was  generously  spoken.  The  words  came 
straight  from  his  soul.  He  put  his  hand  on  his 
brother's  shoulder  as  he  uttered  them.  His  eyes 
were  as  tender  as  the  eyes  of  a  woman. 

And  suddenly,  without  warning,  Everard's 
strength  failed  him.  It  was  like  the  snapping  of  a 
stretched  wire.  "Oh,  man!"  he  said,  and  covered 
his  face. 

Bernard's  arm  was  round  him  in  a  moment,  a 
staunch,  upholding  arm.  ' '  Everard — dear  old  chap 


The  Desert  Place  405 

— can't  you  tell  me  what  it  is?"  he  said.  "God 
knows  I'll  die  sooner  than  let  you  down." 

Everard  did  not  answer.  His  breathing  was 
hard,  spasmodic,  intensely  painful  to  hear.  He 
had  the  -look  of  a  man  stricken  in  his  pride. 

For  a  space  Bernard  stood  dumbly  supporting 
him.  Then  at  length  very  quietly  he  moved  and 
guided  him  to  a  chair. 

"Take  your  time!"  he  said  gently.    "Sit  down!" 

Mutely  Everard  submitted.  The  agony  of  that 
night  had  stripped  his  manhood  of  its  reserve. 
He  sat  crouched,  his  head  bowed  upon  his  clenched 
hands. 

"Wait  while  I  fetch  you  a  drink!"  Bernard  said. 

He  was  gone  barely  two  minutes.  Returning, 
he  fastened  the  window  and  drew  the  curtain 
across.  Then  he  bent  again  over  the  huddled 
figure  in  the  chair. 

"Take  a  mouthful  of  this,  old  fellow!  It'll  pull 
you  together." 

Everard  groped  outwards  with  a  quivering 
hand.  "Give  me  strength — to  shoot  myself," 
he  muttered. 

The  words  were  only  just  audible,  but  Bernard 
caught  them.  "No, — give  you  strength  to  play 
the  game,"  he  said,  and  held  the  glass  he  had 
brought  to  his  brother's  lips. 

Everard  drank  with  closed  eyes  and  sat  forward 
again  motionless.  His  face  was  bloodless.  "I'm 
sorry,  St.  Bernard,"  he  said,  after  a  moment. 
"Forgive  me  for  manhandling  you — and  all  the 


406       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

rest,  if  you  can!"  He  drew  a  long,  hard  breath. 
' '  Thanks  for  everything !  Good-night ! ' ' 

"But  I'm  not  leaving  you,"  said  Bernard,  gently. 
"Not  like  this." 

"Like  what?"  Everard  opened  his  eyes  with  an 
abrupt  effort.  "Oh,  I'm  all  right.  Don't  you  bother 
about  me!"  he  said. 

Their  eyes  met.  For  a  second  longer  Bernard 
stood  over  him.  Then  he  went  down  upon  his 
knees  by  his  side.  "I  swear  I  won't  leave  you," 
he  said,  "until  you've  told  me  this  trouble  of 
yours." 

Everard  shook  his  head  instantly,  but  his  hand 
went  out  and  closed  upon  the  arm  that  had  upheld 
him.  He  was  beginning  to  recover  his  habitual 
self-command.  "  It's  no  good,  old  chap.  I  can't, ' ' 
he  said.  And  added  almost  involuntarily,  "That's 
—the  hell  of  it!" 

"But  you  can,"  Bernard  said.  He  still  looked 
him  straight  in  the  eyes.  "You  can  and  you  will. 
Call  it  a  confession — I've  heard  a  good  many  in 
my  time — and  tell  me  everything!" 

"Confess  to  you!"  A  hint  of  surprise  showed 
in  Everard's  heavy  eyes.  "You'd  better  not 
tempt  me  to  do  that,"  he  said.  "You  might  be 
sorry  afterwards. " 

"I  will  risk  it,"  Bernard  said. 

"Risk  being  made  an  accessory  to — what  you 
may  regard  as  a  crime  ? ' '  Everard  said.  ' '  Forgive 
me — you're  a  parson,  I  know, — but  are  you  sure 
you  can  play  the  part?" 


The  Desert  Place  407 

Bernard  smiled  a  little  at  the  question.  "Yes, 
I  can,"  he  said.  "A  confession  is  sacred — what- 
ever it  is.  And  I  swear  to  you — by  God  in  Heaven 
— to  treat  it  as  such. " 

Everard  was  looking  at  him  fixedly,  but  some- 
thing of  the  strain  went  out  of  his  look  at  the  words. 
A  gleam  of  relief  crossed  his  face. 

"All  right.  I  will — confess  to  you,"  he  said. 
"But  I  warn  you  beforehand,  you'll  be  horribly 
shocked.  And — you  won't  feel  like  absolving  me 
afterwards." 

"That's  not  my  job,  dear  fellow,"  Bernard 
answered  gently.  "Go  ahead!  You're  sure  of 
my  sympathy  anyway." 

"Am  I?  You're  a  good  chap,  St.  Bernard. 
Look  here,  don't  kneel  there !  It's  not  suitable  for 
a  father  confessor,"  Everard's  faint  smile  showed 
for  a  moment. 

Bernard's  hand  closed  upon  his.  "Go  ahead!" 
he  said  again,  "I'm  all  right." 

Everard  made  an  abrupt  gesture  that  had  in 
it  something  of  surrender.  "It's  soon  told,"  he 
said,  "though  I  don't  know  why  I  should  burden 
you  with  it.  That  fellow  Ralph  Dacre— I  didn't 
murder  him.  I  wish  to  Heaven  I  had.  So  far  as 
I  know — he  is  alive." 

"Ah!"  Bernard  said 

Jerkily,  with  obvious  effort,  Everard  continued. 
"I'm  a  murderous  brute  no  doubt.  But  if  I  had 
the  chance  to  kill  him  now,  I'd  take  it.  You  see 
what  it  means,  don't  you?  It  means  that  Stella — 


408       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

that  Stella — "  He  broke  off  with  a  convulsive 
movement,  and  dropped  back  into  a  tortured 
silence. 

"Yes.     I  see  what  it  means, "  Bernard  said. 

After  an  interval  Everard  forced  out  a  few  more 
words.  "About  a  fortnight  after  their  marriage 
I  got  your  letter  telling  me  he  had  a  wife  living.  I 
went  straight  after  them  in  native  disguise,  and 
made  him  clear  out.  That's  the  whole  story." 

"I  see,"  Bernard  said  again. 

Again  there  fell  a  silence  between  them.  Ever- 
ard sat  bowed,  his  head  on  his  hand.  The  awful 
pallor  was  passing,  but  the  stricken  look  remained. 

Bernard  spoke  at  last.  "You  have  no  idea 
what  became  of  him?" 

"Not  the  faintest.  He  went.  That  was  all 
that  concerned  me."  Grimly,  without  lifting  his 
head,  he  made  answer.  "You  know  the  rest — or 
you  can  guess.  Then  you  came,  and  told  me  that 
the  woman — Dacre's  wife — died  before  his  mar- 
riage to  Stella.  I've  been  in  hell  ever  since. " 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  I'd  stopped  away!"  Bernard 
exclaimed  with  sudden  vehemence. 

Everard  shifted  his  position  slightly  to  glance 
at  him.  "Don't  wish  that!"  he  said.  "After 
all,  it  would  probably  have  come  out  somehow. " 

' '  And — Stella  ? ' '  Bernard  spoke  with  hesitation, 
as  if  uncertain  of  his  ground.  "What  does  she 
think?  How  much  does  she  know ?" 

"She  thinks  like  the  rest.  She  thinks  I  mur- 
dered the  hound.  And  I'd  rather  she  thought 


The  Desert  Place  409 

that,"  there  was  dogged  suffering  in  Everard's 
voice,  "than  suspected  the  truth." 

"You  think — "  Bernard  still  spoke  with  slight 
hesitation — "that  will  hurt  her  less?" 

"Yes."  There  was  stubborn  conviction  in  the 
reply.  Everard  slowly  straightened  himself  and 
faced  his  brother  squarely.  "There  is — the  child, " 
he  said. 

Bernard  shook  his  head  slightly.  "You're 
wrong,  old  fellow.  You're  making  a  mistake. 
You  are  choosing  the  hardest  course  for  her  as 
well  as  yourself." 

Everard's  jaw  hardened.  ' '  I  shall  find  a  way  out 
for  myself, "  he  said.  "She  shall  be  left  in  peace. " 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Bernard  said.  Then 
as  he  made  no  reply,  he  took  him  firmly  by  the 
shoulders.  "No — no!  You  won't.  You  won't, " 
he  said.  "That's  not  you,  my  boy — not  when 
you've  sanely  thought  it  out." 

Everard  suffered  his  hold ;  but  his  face  remained 
set  in  grim  lines.  "There  is  no  other  way,"  he 
said.  "Honestly,  I  see  no  other  way." 

"There  is  another  way."  Very  steadily,  with 
the  utmost  confidence,  Bernard  made  the  asser- 
tion. "There  always  is.  God  sees  to  that.  You'll 
find  it  presently." 

Everard  smiled  very  wearily  at  the  words. 
"I've  given  up  expecting  any  light  from  that 
quarter, ' '  he  said.  ' '  It  seems  to  me  that  He  hasn't 
much  use  for  the  wanderers  once  they  get  off  the 
beaten  track. " 


410       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Oh,  my  dear  chap ! "  Bernard's  hands  pressed 
upon  him  suddenly.  "Do  you  really  believe  He 
has  no  care  for  that  which  is  lost?  Have  you 
blundered  along  all  this  time  and  never  yet  seen 
the  lamp  in  the  desert?  You  will  see  it — like 
every  other  wanderer — sooner  or  later,  if  you  only 
have  the  pluck  to  keep  on." 

"You  seem  mighty  sure  of  that."  Everard 
looked  at  him  with  a  species  of  dull  curiosity.  ' '  Are 
you  sure?" 

"Of  course  I  am  sure."  Bernard  spoke  vigor- 
ously. "And  so  are  you  in  your  heart.  You 
know  very  well  that  if  you  only  push  on  you  won't 
be  left  to  die  in  the  wilderness.  Have  you  never 
thought  to  yourself  after  a  particularly  dark  spell 
that  there  has  always  been  a  speck  of  light  some- 
where— never  total  darkness  for  any  length  of 
time?  That's  the  lamp  in  the  desert,  old  chap. 
And — whether  you  realize  it  or  not — God  put  it 
there." 

He  ceased  to  speak,  and  rose  quietly  to  his  feet ; 
then,  as  Everard  stretched  a  hand  to  him,  gave 
him  a  steady  pull  upwards.  They  stood  face  to 
face. 

"And  that,"  Bernard  added,  after  a  few  mo- 
ments, "is  all  I've  got  to  say.  You  turn  in  now 
and  get  a  rest !  If  you  want  me,  well,  you  know 
where  to  find  me — just  any  time." 

"Thanks!"  Everard  said.  His  hand  held  his 
brother's  hard.  "But — before  you  go — there's 
one  thing  I  want  to  say — no,  two. ' '  A  shadowy 


The  Desert  Place  411 

smile  touched  his  grim  lips  and  vanished.  His 
eyes  were  still  and  wholly  remote,  sheltering  his 
soul. 

"Go  ahead!"  said  Bernard  gently. 

Everard  paused  for  a  second.  ' '  You  have  asked 
no  promise  of  me, "  he  said  then;  "but — I'll  make 
you  one.  And  I  want  one  from  you  in  return." 

Again  he  paused,  as  if  he  had  some  difficulty  in 
finding  words. 

"You  can  rely  on  me, "  Bernard  said. 

"Yes,  old  fellow."  For  an  instant  his  eyes 
smiled  also.  "I  know  it.  It's  by  that  fact  alone 
that  you've  gained  your  point.  And  so  I'll  hang 
on  somehow  for  the  present — find  another  way — 
anyhow  hang  on,  just  because  you  are  what  you 
are — and  because — "  his  voice  sank  a  little — 
"you  care." 

"Don't  you  know  I  love  you  before  any  one  else 
in  the  world?"  Bernard  said,  giving  him  a  mighty 
grip. 

"Yes, "  Everard  looked  him  straight  in  the  face, 
"I  do.  And  it  means  more  to  me  than  perhaps 
you  think.  In  fact — it's  everything  to  me  just 
now.  That's  why  I  want  you  to  promise  me — 
whatever  happens — whatever  I  decide  to  do — 
that  you  will  stay  within  reach  of — that  you  will 
take  care  of — my — my — of  Stella."  He  ended 
abruptly,  with  a  quick  gesture  that  held  entreaty. 

And  Bernard's  reply  came  instantly,  almost  be- 
fore he  had  ceased  to  speak.  "Before  God,  old 
chap,  I  will." 


412       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Thanks, "  Everard  said  again.  He  stood  for  a 
few  moments  as  if  debating  something  further,  but 
in  the  end  he  freed  himself  and  turned  away. 
' ' She  will  be  all  right,  with  you, "  he  said.  "You're 
— safe  anyhow." 

"Quite  safe,"  said  Bernard  steadily. 


PART  V 
CHAPTER  I 

GREATER  THAN  DEATH 

"!F  you  ask  me,"  said  Bertie  Oakes,  propping 
himself  up  in  an  elegant  attitude  against  a  pillar 
of  the  Club  verandah,  "it's  my  belief  that  there's 
going  to  be — a  bust-up." 

"Nobody  did  ask  you,"  observed  Tommy 
rudely. 

He  generally  was  rude  nowadays,  and  had  been 
haled  before  a  subalterns'  court-martial  only  the 
previous  evening  for  that  very  reason.  The  sen- 
tence passed  had  been  of  a  somewhat  drastic 
nature,  and  certainly  had  not  improved  his  temper 
or  his  manners.  To  be  stripped,  bound  scienti- 
fically, and  "dipped"  in  the  Club  swimming-bath 
till,  as  Oakes  put  it,  all  the  venom  had  been 
drenched  out  of  him,  was  an  experience  for  which 
only  one  utterly  reckless  would  qualify  twice. 

Tommy  had   come   through   it   with   a   dumb 

endurance  which  had  somewhat  spoilt  the  occasion 

for  his  tormentors,  had  gone  back  to  The  Green 

Bungalow  as  soon  as  his  punishment  was  over,  and 

413 


4H       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

for  the  first  time  had  drunk  heavily  in  the  privacy 
of  his  room. 

He  sat  now  in  a  huddled  position  on  the  Club 
verandah,  "looking  like  a  sick  chimpanzee"  as 
Oakes  assured  him,  "ready  to  bite — if  he  dared — 
at  a  moment's  notice. " 

Mrs.  Ralston  was  seated  near.  She  had  a 
motherly  eye  upon  Tommy. 

"Now  what  exactly  do  you  mean  by  a  'bust -up,' 
Mr.  Oakes  ? ' '  she  asked  with  her  gentle  smile. 

Oakes  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  upwards.  He 
liked  airing  his  opinions,  especially  when  there 
were  several  ladies  within  earshot. 

"What  do  I  mean?"  he  said,  with  a  pomposity 
carefully  moulded  upon  the  Colonel's  mode  of  de- 
livery on  a  guest-night.  ' '  I  mean,  my  dear  Mrs. 
Ralston,  that  which  would  have  to  be  suppressed 
— a  rising  among  the  native  element  of  the  State.  " 

"Ape!"  growled  Tommy  under  his  breath. 

Oakes  caught  the  growl,  and  made  a  downward 
motion  with  his  thumb  which  only  Tommy  under- 
stood. 

Mrs.  Burton's  soft,  false  laugh  filled  the  pause 
that  followed  his  pronouncement.  ' '  Surely  no  one 
could  openly  object  to  the  conviction  of  a  native 
murderer!"  she  said.  "I  hear  that  the  evidence 
is  quite  conclusive.  Captain  Monck  has  spared  no 
pains  in  that  direction. " 

"Captain  Monck,"  observed  Lady  Harriet, 
elevating  her  long  nose,  ' '  seems  to  be  exceptionally 
well  qualified  for  that  kind  of  service." 


Greater  than  Death  4*5 

"Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief,  what?"  suggested 
Oakes  lightly.  ' '  Yes,  he  seems  to  be  quite  good  at 
it.  Just  as  well  in  a  way,  perhaps.  Someone 
has  got  to  do  the  dirty  work,  though  it  would  be 
preferable  for  all  of  us  if  he  were  a  policeman  by 
profession." 

It  was  too  carelessly  spoken  to  sound  actively 
malevolent.  But  Tommy,  with  his  arms  gripped 
round  his  knees,  raised  eyes  of  bloodshot  fury  to 
the  speaker's  face. 

' '  If  any  one  could  take  a  first  class  certificate  for 
dirty  work,  it  would  be  you,"  he  said,  speaking 
very  distinctly  between  clenched  teeth. 

A  sudden  silence  fell  upon  the  assembly.  Oakes 
looked  down  at  Tommy,  and  Tommy  glared  up  at 
Oakes. 

Then  abruptly  Major  Ralston,  who  had  been 
standing  in  the  background  with  a  tall  drink  in  his 
hand,  slouched  forward  and  let  himself  down 
ponderously  on  the  edge  of  the  verandah  by 
Tommy's  side. 

"Go  away,  Bertie!"  he  said.  "We've  listened 
to  your  wind  instrument  long  enough.  Tommy, 
you  shut  up,  or  I'll  give  you  the  beastliest  physic 
I  know!  What  were  we  talking  about?  Mary, 
give  us  a  lead ! ' ' 

He  appealed  to  his  wife,  who  glanced  towards 
Lady  Harriet  with  a  hint  of  embarrassment. 

Major  Ralston  atonce  addressed  himself  to  her.  He 
was  never  embarrassed  by  any  one,  and  never  went 
out  of  his  way  to  be  pleasant  without  good  reason. 


4l6       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"This  murder  trial  is  going  to  be  sensational," 
he  said,  "I've  just  got  back  from  giving  evidence 
as  to  the  cause  of  death  and  I  have  it  on  good 
authority  that  a  certain  august  personage  in 
Markestan  is  shaking  in  his  shoes  as  to  the  result 
of  the  business." 

"I  have  heard  that  too, "  said  Lady  Harriet. 

It  was  a  curious  fact  that  though  she  was  always 
ready,  and  would  even  go  out  of  her  way,  to  snub 
the  surgeon's  wife,  she  had  never  once  been  other 
than  gracious  to  the  surgeon. 

"I  don't  suppose  he  will  be  actively  implicated. 
He's  too  wily  for  that,"  went  on  Major  Ralston. 
"But  there's  not  much  doubt  according  to  Barnes, 
that  he  was  in  the  know — very  much  so,  I  should 
imagine."  He  glanced  about  him.  "Mrs.  Erm- 
sted  isn't  here,  is  she?" 

"No  dear.  I  left  her  resting,"  his  wife  said. 
' '  This  affair  is  very  trying  for  her — naturally. ' '  He 
assented  somewhat  grimly.  ' '  I  wonder  she  stayed 
for  it.  Now  Tessa  on  the  other  hand  yearns  for 
the  murderer's  head  in  a  charger.  That  child  is 
getting  too  Eastern  in  her  ideas.  It  will  be  a  good 
thing  to  get  her  Home. " 

Mrs.  Burton  intervened  with  a  simper.  "Yes, 
she  really  is  a  naughty  little  thing,  and  I  cannot  say 
I  shall  be  sorry  when  she  is  gone.  My  small  son 
is  at  such  a  very  receptive  age. " 

"Yes,  he's  old  enough  to  go  to  school  and  be 
licked  into  shape,"  said  Major  Ralston  brutally. 
"He  flings  stones  at  my  car  every  time  I  pass.  I 


Greater  than  Death  4J7 

shall  stop  and  give  him  a  licking  myself  some  day 
when  I  have  time." 

"Really,  Major  Ralston,  I  hope  you  will  not 
do  anything  so  cruel,"  protested  Mrs.  Burton. 
"We  never  correct  him  in  that  way  ourselves. " 

"Pity  you  don't,"  said  Major  Ralston.  "An 
unlicked  cub  is  an  insult  to  creation.  Give  him  to 
me  for  a  little  while!  I'll  undertake  to  improve 
him  both  morally  and  physically  to  such  an  extent 
that  you  won't  know  him. " 

Here  Tommy  uttered  a  brief,  wholly  involuntary 
guffaw. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  said  Ralston. 

"Nothing."  His  gloom  dropped  upon  him 
again  like  a  mantle.  "Have  you  been  at  Khan- 
mulla  all  day?" 

"Yes;  a  confounded  waste  of  time  it's  been  too. " 
Ralston  took  a  deep  drink  and  set  down  his  glass. 

"You  always  think  it's  a  waste  of  time  if  you 
can't  be  doctoring  somebody,"  muttered  Tommy. 

"Don't  be  offensive!"  said  Ralston.  "I  know 
what's  the  matter  with  you,  my  son,  but  I  should 
keep  it  to  myself  if  I  were  you.  As  a  matter  of 
fact  I  did  give  medical  advice  to  somebody  this 
afternoon — which  of  course  he  won't  take." 

Tommy's  face  was  suddenly  scarlet.  It  was 
solely  the  maternal  protective  instinct  that  induced 
Mrs.  Ralston  to  bend  forward  and  speak. 

"Do  you  mean  Captain  Monck,  Gerald?"  she 
asked. 

Major   Ralston   cast    a   comprehensive   glance 


4l8       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

around  the  little  group  assembled  near  him, 
finishing  his  survey  upon  Tommy's  burning  counte- 
nance. "Yes — Monck, "  he  said.  "He's  staying 
with  Barnes  at  Khanmulla  to  see  this  affair 
through.  If  I  were  Mrs.  Monck  I  should  be  pretty 
anxious  about  him.  He  says  it's  insomnia." 

"Is  he  ill?"  It  was  Tommy  who  spoke,  his 
voice  quick  and  low,  all  the  sullen  embarrassment 
gone  from  his  demeanour. 

The  doctor's  eyes  dwelt  upon  him  for  a  moment 
longer  before  he  answered.  "I  never  saw  such  a 
change  in  any  man  in  such  a  short  time.  He'll 
have  a  bad  break-down  if  he  doesn't  watch  out.  " 

"He  works  too  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston  sym- 
pathetically. 

Her  husband  nodded.  "If  it  weren't  for  that 
sickly  baby  of  hers,  I  should  advise  his  wife  to  go 
straight  to  him  and  look  after  him.  But  perhaps 
when  this  trial  is  over  he  will  be  able  to  take  a  rest. 
I  shall  order  the  whole  family  to  Bhulwana  if  I 
get  the  chance."  He  got  up  with  the  words, and 
faced  the  company  with  a  certain  dogged  aggres- 
siveness that  compelled  attention.  "It's  hard," 
he  said,  ' '  to  see  a  fine  chap  like  that  knocked  out. 
He's  about  the  best  man  we've  got,  and  we  can't 
afford  to  lose  him.  " 

He  waited  for  someone  to  take  up  the  challenge, 
but  no  one  showed  any  inclination  to  do  so.  Only 
after  a  moment  Tommy  also  sprang  up  as  if  there 
was  something  in  the  situation  that  chafed  him 
beyond  endurance. 


Greater  than  Death 


Ralston  looked  at  him  again,  critically,  not  over- 
favourably.  "Where  are  you  off  to  in  such  a 
hurry?"  he  said. 

Tommy  hunched  his  shoulders,  all  defiance  in  a 
second.  "Going  for  a  ride,"  he  growled.  "Any 
objection  ?  '  ' 

Ralston  turned  away.  "None  whatever,  my 
young  porcupine.  Have  mercy  on  your  nag, 
that's  all  —  and  don't  break  your  own  neck!" 

Tommy  strode  wrathfully  away  to  the  sound  of 
Mrs.  Burton's  tittering  laugh.  With  the  excep- 
tion of  Mrs.  Ralston,  who  really  did  not  count,  he 
hated  every  one  of  the  party  that  he  left  behind 
on  the  Club  verandah,  and  he  did  not  attempt 
to  disguise  the  fact. 

But  when  an  hour  later  he  rolled  off  his  horse 
in  the  compound  of  the  policeman's  bungalow  at 
Khanmulla,  his  mood  had  undergone  a  complete 
change.  There  was  nothing  defiant  or  even  assert- 
ive about  him  as  he  applied  for  admittance.  He 
looked  beaten,  tried  beyond  his  strength. 

It  was  growing  rapidly  dark  as  he  followed 
Barnes's  khansama  into  the  long  bare  room  which  he 
used  as  his  private  office.  The  man  brought  him  a 
lamp  and  told  him  that  the  sahibs  would  be  back 
soon.  They  had  gone  down  to  the  Court  House 
again,  but  they  might  return  at  any  time. 

He  also  brought  him  whisky  and  soda  which 
Tommy  did  not  touch,  spending  the  interval  of 
waiting  that  ensued  in  fevered  tramping  to  and  fro. 

He  had  not  seen  Monck  alone  since  the  evening 


420        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

of  Tessa's  birthday-party  nearly  three  weeks  before. 
On  the  score  of  business  connected  with  the 
approaching  trial,  Monck  had  come  to  Khanmulla 
immediately  afterwards,  and  no  one  at  Kurrum- 
pore  had  had  more  than  an  occasional  glimpse  of 
him  since.  But  he  meant  to  see  him  alone  now, 
and  he  had  given  very  explicit  instructions  to  that 
effect  to  the  servant,  accompanied  by  a  substantial 
species  of  persuasion  that  could  not  fail  to  achieve 
its  object. 

When  the  sound  of  voices  told  him  at  last  of  the 
return  of  the  two  men,  he  drew  back  out  of  sight 
of  the  window  while  the  obsequious  khansama  went 
forth  upon  his  errand.  Then  a  moment  or  two 
later  he  heard  them  separate,  and  one  alone  came 
in  his  direction.  Everard  entered  with  the  gait 
of  a  tired  man. 

The  lamp  dazzled  him  for  a  second,  and  Tommy 
saw  him  first.  He  smothered  an  involuntary 
exclamation  and  stepped  forward. 

"Tommy!"  said  Monck,  as  if  incredulous. 

Tommy  stood  in  front  of  him,  his  hands  at  his 
sides.  "Yes,  it's  me.  I  had  to  come  over — just 
to  have  a  look  at  you.  Ralston  said — said — oh, 
damn  it,  it  doesn't  matter  what  he  said.  Only  I 
had  to — just  come  and  see  for  myself.  You  see, 
I — I — "  he  faltered  badly,  but  recovered  himself 
under  the  straight  gaze  of  Everard's  eyes — "I 
can't  get  the  thought  of  you  out  of  my  mind.  I've 
been  a  damn'  cur.  You  won't  want  to  speak  to 
me  of  course,  but  when  Ralston  started  jawing 


Greater  than  Death  421 

about  you  this  afternoon,  I  found — I  found — " 
he  choked  suddenly — "I  couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer,"  he  said  in  a  strangled  whisper. 

Monck  was  looking  full  at  him  by  the  merciless 
glare  of  the  lamp  on  the  table,  which  revealed  him- 
self very  fully  also.  All  the  grim  lines  in  his  face 
seemed  to  be  accentuated.  He  looked  years  older. 
The  hair  above  his  temples  gleamed  silver  where  it 
caught  the  light. 

He  did  not  speak  at  once.  Only  as  Tommy 
made  a  blind  movement  as  if  to  go,  he  put  forth  a 
hand  and  took  him  by  the  arm. 

"Tommy,"  he  said,  "what  have  you  been 
doing?" 

Out  of  deep  hollows  his  eyes  looked  forth, 
indomitable,  relentless  as  they  had  ever  been, 
searching  the  boy's  downcast  face. 

Tommy  quivered  a  little  under  their  piercing 
scrutiny,  but  he  made  no  attempt  to  avoid  it. 

"Look  at  me!"  Monck  commanded. 

He  raised  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and  in  spite  of 
himself  Monck  was  softened  by  the  utter  misery 
they  held. 

"You  always  were  an  ass,"  he  commented. 
"But  I  thought  you  had  more  strength  of  mind 
than  this." 

Tommy  made  an  impotent  gesture.  "I'm  a 
beast — I'm  a  skunk!"  he  declared,  with  tremulous 
vehemence.  "I'm  not  fit  to  speak  to  you!" 

The  shadow  of  a  smile  crossed  Monck's  face. 
"And  you've  come  all  this  way  to  tell  me  so?"  he 


422       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

said.  "You've  no  business  here  either.  You 
ought  to  be  at  the  Mess. " 

"Damn  the  Mess!"  said  Tommy  fiercely. 
"They'll  tell  me  I  ratted  to-morrow.  I  don't  care. 
Let  'em  say  what  they  like !  It's  you  that  matters. 
Man,  how  infernally  ill  you  look!" 

Monck  checked  the  personal  allusion.  "I'm 
not  ill.  But  what  have  you  been  up  to  ?  Are  you 
in  a  row?" 

Tommy  essayed  a  laugh.  ' '  No,  nothing  serious. 
The  blithering  idiots  ducked  me  yesterday  for 
being  disrespectful,  that's  all.  I  don't  care.  It's 
you  I  care  about,  Everard,  old  chap!" 

His  voice  held  sudden  pleading,  but  his  face 
was  turned  away.  He  had  meant  to  say  more,  but 
could  not.  He  stood  biting  his  lips  desperately 
in  a  mute  struggle  for  self-control. 

Everard  waited  a  few  seconds,  giving  him  time ; 
then  abruptly  he  moved,  slapped  a  hand  on  Tom- 
my's shoulder  and  gave  him  a  shake. 

"Tommy,  don't  be  so  beastly  cheap!  I'm 
ashamed  of  you.  What's  the  matter?" 

Tommy  yielded  impulsively  to  the  bracing  grip, 
but  he  kept  his  face  averted.  "That's  just  it, "  he 
blurted  out.  "I  feel  cheap.  Fact  is,  I  came — I 
came  to  ask  you  to — forgive  me.  But  now  I'm 
here, — I'm  damned  if  I  have  the  cheek. " 

"What  do  you  want  my  forgiveness  for?  I 
thought  I  was  the  transgressor."  Everard's 
voice  was  a  curious  blend  of  humour  and  sadness. 

Tommy  turned  to  him  with  a  sudden  boyish 


Greater  than  Death  423 

gesture  so  spontaneous  as  to  override  all  barriers. 
"Oh,  I  know  all  that.  But  it  doesn't  count.  See ? 
I  don't  know  how  I  ever  had  the  infernal  pre- 
sumption to  think  it  did,  or  to  ask  you — you,  of  all 
men — to  explain  your  actions.  I  don't  want  any 
explanation.  I  believe  in  you  without,  simply 
because  I  can't  help  it.  I  know — without  any 
proof, — that  you're  sound.  And — and — I  beg 
your  pardon  for  being  such  a  cur  as  to  doubt  you. 
There!  That's  what  I  came  to  say.  Now  it's 
your  turn. " 

The  tears  were  in  his  eyes,  but  he  made  no  fur- 
ther attempt  to  hide  them.  All  that  was  great  in 
his  nature  had  come  to  the  surface,  and  there  was 
no  room  left  for  self -consciousness. 

Monck  realized  it,  and  it  affected  him  deeply, 
depriving  him  of  the  power  to  respond.  He  had 
not  expected  this  from  Tommy,  had  not  believed 
him  capable  of  it.  But  there  was  no  doubting  the 
boy's  sincerity.  Through  those  tears  which 
Tommy  had  forgotten  to  hide,  he  saw  the  old  lov- 
ing trust  shine  out  at  him,  the  old  whole-hearted 
admiration  and  honour  offered  again  without 
reservation  and  without  stint. 

He  opened  his  lips  to  speak,  but  something  rose 
in  his  throat,  preventing  him.  He  held  out  his 
hand  in  silence,  and  in  that  wordless  grip  the  love 
which  is  greater  than  death  made  itself  felt  be- 
tween them — a  bond  imperishable  which  no 
earthly  circumstance  could  ever  again  violate — the 
Power  Omnipotent  which  conquers  all  things. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE    LAMP 

THE  orange  light  of  the  morning  was  breaking 
over  the  jungle  when  two  horsemen  rode  out  upon 
the  Kurrumpore  road  and  halted  between  the  rice 
fields. 

"I  say,  come  on  a  bit  further!"  Tommy  urged. 
"There's  plenty  of  time." 

But  the  other  shook  his  head.  "No,  I  can't.  I 
promised  Barnes  to  be  back  early.  Good-bye, 
Tommy  my  lad!  Keep  your  end  up!" 

"I  will,"  Tommy  promised,  and  thrust  out  a 
hand.  "And  you'll  hang  on,  won't  you?  Pro- 
mise!" 

"All  right;  for  the  present.  My  love  to  Ber- 
nard." Everard  spoke  with  his  usual  brevity,  but 
his  handclasp  was  remembered  by  Tommy  for  a 
very  long  time  after. 

"And  to  Stella?"  he  said,  pushing  his  horse  a 
little  nearer  till  it  muzzled  against  its  fellow. 

Everard's  eyes,  grave  and  dark,  looked  out  to 
the  low  horizon.  "I  think  not,"  he  said.  "She 
has — no  further  use  for  it. " 

"She  will  have,"  said  Tommy  quickly. 
424 


The  Lamp  425 

But  Everard  passed  the  matter  by  in  silence. 
"You  must  be  getting  on,"  he  said,  and  relaxed 
his  grip.  ' '  Good-bye,  old  chap !  You've  done  me 
good,  if  that  is  any  consolation  to  you. " 

"Oh,  man!"  said  Tommy,  and  coloured  like  a 
girl .  ' '  Not — not  really ! ' ' 

Everard  uttered  his  curt  laugh,  and  switched 
Tommy's  mount  across  the  withers.  "Be  off 
with  you,  you — cuckoo!"  he  said. 

And  Tommy  grinned  and  went. 

Half-an-hour  later  he  was  sounding  an  impatient 
tatto  upon  his  sister's  door. 

She  came  herself  to  admit  him,  but  the  look  upon 
her  face  checked  the  greeting  on  his  lips. 

"What  on  earth's  the  matter?"  he  said  instead. 

She  was  shivering  as  if  with  cold,  though  the 
risen  sun  had  filled  the  world  with  spring-like 
warmth.  It  occurred  to  him  as  he  entered,  that 
she  was  looking  pinched  and  ill,  and  he  put  a  com- 
forting arm  around  her. 

1 '  What  is  it,  Stella  girl  ?     Tell  me ! " 

She  relaxed  against  him  with  a  sob.  "I've  been 
— horribly  anxious  about  you,"  she  said. 

' '  Oh,  is  that  all  ? "  said  Tommy.  ' '  What  a  waste 
of  time !  I  was  only  over  at  Khanmulla.  I  spent 
the  night  at  Barnes's  bungalow  because  they 
wouldn't  trust  me  in  the  jungle  after  dark. " 

"They?"  she  questioned. 

"Barnes  and  Everard,"  Tommy  said,  and  faced 
her  squarely.  ' '  I  went  to  see  Everard. ' ' 

"Ah!"     She  caught  her  breath.     "Major  Ral- 


426       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

ston  has  been  here.  He  told  me — he  told  me — " 
her  voice  failed;  she  laid  her  head  down  upon 
Tommy's  shoulder. 

He  tightened  his  arm  about  her.  "It's  a  shame 
of  Ralston  to  frighten  you.  He  isn't  ill. "  Then  a 
sudden  thought  striking  him,  "What  was  he  doing 
here  so  early?  Isn't  the  kid  up  to  the  mark? " 

She  shivered  against  him  again.  "He  had  a 
strange  attack  in  the  night,  and  Major  Ralston 
said — said — oh,  Tommy,"  she  suddenly  clung  to 
him,  "I  am  going  to  lose  him.  He — isn't — like 
other  children." 

"Ralston  said  that?"  demanded  Tommy. 

"He  didn't  tell  me.  He  told  Bernard.  I 
practically  forced  Bernard  to  tell  me,  but  I  think 
he  thought  I  ought  to  know.  He  said — he  said — 
it  isn't  to  be  desired  that  my  baby  should  live. " 

"What?"  said  Tommy  in  dismay.  "Oh,  my 
darling  girl,  I  am  sorry!  What's  wrong  with  the 
poor  little  chap  ? ' ' 

With  her  face  hidden  against  him  she  made 
whispered  answer.  "You  know  he — came  too 
soon.  They  thought  at  first  he  was  all  right,  but 
now — symptoms  have  begun  to  show  themselves. 
We  thought  he  was  just  delicate,  but  it  isn't  only 
that.  Last  night — in  the  night — "  she  shuddered 
suddenly  and  violently  and  paused  to  control  her- 
self— "I  can't  talk  about  it.  It  was  terrible. 
Major  Ralston  says  he  doesn't  suffer,  but  it  looks 
like  suffering.  And,  oh,  Tommy, — he  is  all  I  have 
left." 


The  Lamp  427 

Tommy  held  her  comfortingly  close.  "I  say, 
wouldn't  you  like  Everard  to  come  to  you?"  he 
said. 

"Oh  no!  Oh  no!"  Her  refusal  was  instant. 
"I  can't  see  him.  Tommy,  why  suggest  such  a 
thing?  You  know  I  can't." 

' '  I  know  he's  a  good  man, ' '  Tommy  said  steadily. 
"Just  listen  a  minute,  old  girl !  I  know  things  look 
black  enough  against  him,  so  black  that  it's  pro- 
bable he'll  have  to  send  in  his  papers.  But  I  tell 
you  he's  all  right.  I  didn't  think  so  at  first.  I 
thought  the  same  as  you  do.  But  somehow  that 
suspicion  has  got  worn  out.  It  was  pretty  beastly 
while  it  lasted,  but  I  came  to  my  senses  at  last. 
And  I've  been  to  tell  him  so.  He  was  jolly  decent 
about  it,  though  he  didn't  tell  me  a  thing.  I  didn't 
want  him  to.  Besides,  he  always  is  decent  How 
could  he  be  otherwise?  And  now  we're  just  as  we 
were — friends." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  satisfaction  in 
Tommy's  voice.  He  even  spoke  with  pride,  and 
hearing  it,  Stella  withdrew  herself  slowly  and 
wearily  from  his  arms. 

"It's  rather  different  for  you,  Tommy,"  she 
said.  "A  man's  standards  are  different,  I  know. 
There  may  be  what  you  call  extenuating  circum- 
stances— though  I  can't  quite  imagine  it.  I'm 
too  tired  to  argue  about  it,  Tommy  dear,  and  you 
mustn't  be  vexed  with  me.  I  can't  go  into  it  with 
you,  but  I  teel  as  if  it  is  I — I  myself — who  have 
committed  an  awful  sin.  And  it  has  got  to  be 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

expiated,  perhaps  that  is  why  my  baby  is  to  be 
taken  from  me.  Bernard  says  it  is  not  so.  But 
then — Bernard  is  a  man  too. ' '  There  was  a  sound 
of  heartbreak  in  her  voice  as  she  ended.  She  put 
up  her  hands  with  a  gesture  as  of  trying  to  put 
away  some  monstrous  thing  that  threatened  to 
crush  her — a  gesture  that  went  straight  to  Tommy's 
warm  heart. 

"Oh,  poor  old  girl!"  he  said  impulsively,  and 
took  the  hands  into  his  own.  "I  say,  ought  I  to 
be  in  here  ?  Aren '  t  you  supposed  to  be  resting  ? ' ' 

She  smiled  at  him  wanly.  "I  believe  I  am. 
Major  Ralston  left  a  soothing  draught,  but  I 
wouldn't  take  it,  in  case — "  she  broke  off.  "Peter 
is  on  guard  as  well  as  Ayah,  and  he  has  promised  to 
call  me  if — if — "  Again  she  stopped.  "I  don't 
think  Ayah  is  much  good,"  she  resumed.  "She 
was  nearly  frightened  out  of  her  senses  last  night. 
She  seems  to  think  there  is  something — super- 
natural about  it.  But  Peter — Peter  is  a  tower  of 
strength.  I  trust  him  implicitly." 

"Yes,  he's  a  good  chap,"  said  Tommy.  "I'm 
glad  you've  got  him  anyway.  I  wish  I  could  be 
more  of  a  help  to  you. " 

She  leaned  forward  and  kissed  him.  "You  are 
very  dear  to  me,  Tommy.  I  don't  know  what  I 
should  do  without  you  and  Bernard. " 

"Where  is  the  worthy  padre?"  asked  Tommy. 

"He  may  be  working  in  his  room.  He  is  cer- 
tainly not  far  away.  He  never  is  nowadays. " 

"I'll  go  and  find  him,  "  said  Tommy.    "But  look 


The  Lamp  429 

here,  dear!  Have  that  draught  of  Ralston's  and 
lie  down!  Just  to  please  me!" 

She  began  to  refuse,  but  Tommy  could  be  very 
persuasive  when  he  chose,  and  he  chose  on  this 
occasion.  Finally,  with  reluctance  she  yielded, 
since,  as  he  pointed  out,  she  needed  all  the  strength 
she  could  muster. 

He  tucked  her  up  with  motherly  care,  feeling 
that  he  had  accomplished  something  worth  doing, 
and  then,  seeing  that  exhaustion  would  do  the 
rest,  he  left  her  and  went  softly  forth  in  search  of 
Bernard. 

The  latter,  however,  was  not  in  the  bungalow, 
and  since  it  was  growing  late  Tommy  had  a 
hurried  bath  and  dressed  for  parade.  He  was 
bolting  a  hasty  tiffin  in  the  dining-room  when  a 
quiet  step  on  the  verandah  warned  him  of  Ber- 
nard's approach,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  the  big 
man  entered,  a  pipe  in  his  mouth  and  a  book  under 
his  arm. 

"Hullo,  Tommy!"  he  said  with  his  genial  smile. 
"So  you  haven't  been  murdered  this  time.  I 
congratulate  you. " 

"Thanks!"  said  Tommy. 

"I  congratulate  myself  also,"  said  Bernard, 
patting  his  shoulder  by  way  of  greeting.  "If  it 
weren't  against  my  principles,  I  should  have  been 
very  worried  about  you,  my  lad.  For  I  couldn't 
get  away  to  look  for  you. " 

"Of  course  not, "  said  Tommy.  "And  I  was  safe 
enough.  I've  been  over  to  Khanmulla.  Everard 


43<>       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

made  me  spend  the  night,  and  we  rode  back  this 
morning." 

"Everard!  He  isn't  here?"  Bernard  looked 
round  sharply. 

' '  No, ' '  said  Tommy  bluntly.  "  But  he  ought  to 
be.  He  went  back  again.  He  is  wanted  for  that 
trial  business.  I  say,  things  are  pretty  rotten 
here,  aren't  they?  Is  the  little  kid  past  hope?" 

"I  am  afraid  so.  "  Bernard  spoke  very  gravely. 
His  kindly  face  was  more  sombre  than  Tommy 
had  ever  seen  it. 

"But  can  nothing  be  done?"  the  boy  urged. 
"It'll  break  Stella's  heart  to  lose  him." 

Bernard  shook  his  head.  "Nothing  whatever 
I  am  afraid.  Major  Ralston  has  suspected  trouble 
for  some  time,  it  seems.  We  might  of  course  get  a 
specialist's  opinion  at  Calcutta,  but  the  baby  is 
utterly  unfit  for  a  journey  of  any  kind,  and  it  is 
doubtful  if  any  doctor  would  come  all  this  way — 
especially  with  things  as  they  are." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Tommy. 

Bernard  looked  at  him.  "The  place  is  a  hot- 
bed of  discontent — if  not  anarchy.  Surely  you 
know  that!" 

Tommy  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "That's  no- 
thing new.  It's  what  we're  here  for. ' ' 

"Yes.  And  matters  are  getting  worse.  I  hear 
that  the  result  of  this  trial  will  probably  mean  the 
Rajah's  enforced  abdication.  And  if  that  happens 
there  is  practically  bound  to  be  a  rising. " 

Tommy  laughed.     "That's  been  the  situation 


The  Lamp  43 l 

as  long  as  I've  been  out.  We're  giving  him  enough 
rope,  and  I  hope  he'll  hang,  though  I'm  afraid  he 
won't.  The  rising  will  probably  be  a  sort  of  Chinese 
cracker  affair — a  fizz,  a  few  bangs,  and  a  splutter- 
out.  No  honour  and  glory  for  any  one!" 

"I  hope  you  are  right,  "  said  Bernard. 

"And  I  hope  I'm  wrong,"  said  Tommy  lightly. 
"I  like  a  run  for  my  money." 

"You  forget  the  women,"  said  Bernard  abruptly. 

Tommy  opened  his  eyes.  "No,  I  don't.  They'll 
be  all  right.  They'll  have  to  clear  out  to  Bhul- 
wana  a  little  earlier  than  usual.  They'll  be  safe 
enough  there.  You  can  go  and  look  after  'em,  sir. 
They'll  like  that. " 

"Thank  you,  Tommy."  Bernard  smiled  in 
spite  of  himself.  "It's  kind  of  you  to  put  it  so 
tactfully.  Now  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Everard. 
Is  he  really  ill?" 

"No;  worried  to  death,  that's  all.  He's  talking 
of  sending  in  his  papers.  Did  you  know?" 

"I  suspected  he  would,"  Bernard  spoke  thought- 
fully. 

"He  mustn't  do  it!"  said  Tommy  with  vehem* 
ence.  "He's  worth  all  the  rest  of  the  Mess  put 
together.  You  mustn't  let  him. " 

Bernard  lifted  his  brows.  "I  let  him!"  he  said. 
"Do  you  think  he  is  going  to  do  what  I  tell  him?" 

"I  know  you  have  influence — considerable  in- 
fluence— with  him,"  Tommy  said.  "You  ought 
to  use  it,  sir.  You  really  ought.  It's  up  to  you 
and  no  one  else." 


432       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  spoke  insistently.  Bernard  looked  at  him 
attentively. 

"You've  changed  your  tune  somewhat,  haven't 
you,  Tommy?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  said  Tommy  bluntly.  "I  have.  I've 
been  a  damn'  fool  if  you  want  to  know — the  big- 
gest, damnedest  fool  on  the  face  of  creation.  And 
I've  been  and  told  him  so." 

"For  no  particular  reason?"  Bernard's  blue 
eyes  grew  keener  in  their  regard.  He  looked  at 
Tommy  with  more  interest  than  he  had  ever  before 
bestowed  upon  him. 

Tommy's  face  was  red,  but  he  replied  without 
embarrassment.  "Certainly.  I've  come  to  my 
senses,  that's  all.  I've  come  to  realize — what  I 
really  knew  all  along — that  he's  a  white  man,  white 
all  through,  however  black  he  chooses  to  be 
painted.  And  I'm  ashamed  that  I  ever  doubted 
him." 

"He  hasn't  told  you  anything?"  questioned 
Bernard,  still  closely  surveying  the  flushed  counte- 
nance. 

' '  No ! ' '  said  Tommy,  and  his  voice  rang  on  a  note 
of  indignant  pride.  "Why  the  devil  should  he 
tell  me  anything?  I'm  his  friend.  Thank  the 
gods,  I  can  trust  him  without. " 

Bernard  held  out  his  hand  suddenly.  The 
interest  had  turned  to  something  warmer.  He 
looked  at  the  boy  with  genuine  admiration.  "I 
take  off  my  hat  to  you,  Tommy, "  he  said.  ' '  Ever- 
ard  is  a  deuced  lucky  man. " 


The  Lamp  433 

' '  What  ? "  said  Tommy,  and  turned  deep  crimson. 
"Oh,  rot,  sir!  That's  rot!"  He  gripped  the 
extended  hand  with  warmth  notwithstanding. 
"It's  all  the  other  way  round.  I  can't  tell  you 
what  he's  been  to  me.  Why,  I — I'd  die  for  him, 
if  I  had  the  chance." 

"Yes,"  Bernard  said  with  simplicity.  "I'm 
sure  you  would,  boy.  And  it's  just  that  I  like 
about  you.  You're  just  the  sort  of  friend  he 
needs — the  sort  of  friend  God  sends  along  to  hold  up 
the  lamp  when  the  night  is  dark.  There!  You 
want  to  be  off.  I  won't  keep  you.  But  you're 
a  white  man  yourself,  Tommy,  and  I  shan't  forget 
it." 

"Oh,  rats — rats — rats!"  said  Tommy  rudely, 
and  escaped  through  the  window  at  headlong 
speed. 


CHAPTER  III 
TESSA'S  MOTHER 

"IT  really  isn't  my  fault,"  said  Netta  fretfully. 
"I  don't  see  why  you  should  lecture  me  about  it, 
Mary.  I  can't  help  being  attractive." 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston  patiently,  "that 
wasr-not  my  point.  I  am  only  urging  you  to  show 
a  little  discretion.  You  do  not  want  to  be  an 
object  of  scandal,  I  am  sure.  The  finger  of  sus- 
picion has  been  pointed  at  the  Rajah  a  good  many 
times  lately,  and  I  do  think  that  for  Tessa's  sake, 
if  not  for  your  own,  you  ought  to  put  a  check  upon 
your  intimacy  with  him. 

4 '  Bother  Tessa ! ' '  said  Netta.  ' '  I  don't  see  that 
I  owe  her  anything. " 

Mrs.  Ralston  sighed  a  little,  but  she  persevered. 
"The  child  is  at  an  age  when  she  needs  the  most 
careful  training.  Surely  you  want  her  to  respect 
you!" 

Netta  laughed.  "I  really  don't  care  a  straw 
what  she  does.  Tessa  doesn't  interest  me.  I 
wanted  a  boy,  you  know.  I  never  had  any  use  for 
girls.  Besides,  she  gets  on  my  nerves  at  every 
turn.  We  shall  never  be  kindred  spirits. " 

434 


Tessa 's  Mother  435 

"Poor  little  Tessa!"  said  Mrs.  Ralston  gently. 
"She  has  such  a  loving  heart." 

"She  doesn't  love  me,"  said  Tessa's  mother 
without  regret.  "I  suppose  you'll  say  that's 
my  fault  too.  Everything  always  is,  isn't  it?" 

"I  think — in  fact  I  am  sure — that  love  begets 
love,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston.  "Perhaps  when  you 
and  she  get  to  England  together,  you  will  become 
more  to  each  other." 

' '  Out  of  sheer  ennui  ? ' '  suggested  Netta.  ' '  Oh, 
don't  let's  talk  of  England — I  hate  the  thought  of 
it.  I'm  sure  I  was  created  for  the  East.  Hence 
the  sympathy  that  exists  between  the  Rajah  and 
myself.  You  know,  Mary,  you  really  are  absurd- 
ly prejudiced  against  him.  Richard  was  the  same. 
He  never  had  any  cause  to  be  jealous.  They 
simply  didn't  come  into  the  same  category. " 

Mrs.  Ralston  looked  at  her  with  wonder  in  her 
eyes.  "You  seem  to  forget,"  she  said,  "that 
Richard's  murderer  is  being  tried,  and  that  this 
man  is  very  strongly  suspected  of  being  an  abettor 
if  not  the  actual  instigator  of  the  crime. " 

Netta  flicked  the  ash  from  her  cigarette  with  a 
gesture  of  impatience.  "I  only  wish  you  would 
let  me  forget  these  unpleasant  things,"  she  said. 
"Why  don't  you  go  and  preach  a  sermon  to  the 
beautiful  Stella  Monck  on  the  same  text?  Ralph 
Dacre's  death  was  quite  as  much  of  a  mystery. 
And  the  kindly  gossips  are  every  bit  as  busy  with 
Captain  Monck's  reputation  as  with  His  Excel- 
lency's. But  I  suppose  her  devotion  to  that 


436       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

wretched  little  imbecile  baby  of  hers  renders  her 
immune!" 

She  spoke  with  intentional  malice,  but  she 
scarcely  expected  to  strike  home.  Mary  was  not, 
in  her  estimation,  over-endowed  with  brains,  and 
she  never  seemed  to  mind  a  barbed  thrust  or  two. 
But  on  this  occasion  Mrs.  Ralston  upset  her 
calculations. 

She  arose  in  genuine  wrath.  ' '  Netta ! "  she  said. 
"I  think  you  are  the  most  heartless,  callous  woman 
I  have  ever  met!" 

And  with  that  she  went  straight  from  the  room, 
shutting  the  door  firmly  behind  her. 

"Good  gracious!"  commented  Netta.  "Mary 
in  a  tantrum !  What  an  exciting  spectacle ! " 

She  stretched  her  slim  body  like  a  cat  as  she  lay 
with  the  warm  sunshine  pouring  over  her,  and 
presently  she  laughed. 

"How  funny!  How  very  funny!  Netta,  my 
dear,  they'll  be  calling  you  wicked  next." 

She  pursed  her  lips  over  the  adjective  as  if  she 
rather  enjoyed  it,  then  stretched  herself  again 
luxuriously,  with  sensuous  enjoyment.  She  had 
riden  with  the  Rajah  in  the  early  morning,  and 
was  pleasantly  tired. 

The  sudden  approach  of  Tessa,  scampering 
along  the  verandah  in  the  wake  of  Scooter,  sent  a 
quick  frown  to  her  face,  which  deepened  swiftly  as 
Scooter,  dodging  nimbly,  ran  into  the  room  and 
went  to  earth  behind  a  bamboo  screen. 

Tessa  sprang  in  after  him,  but  pulled  up  sharply 


Tessa's  Mother  437 

at  sight  of  her  mother.  The  frown  upon  Netta's 
face  was  instantly  reflected  upon  her  own.  She 
stood  expectant  of  rebuke. 

"What  a  noisy  child  you  are!"  said  Netta. 
"Are  you  never  quiet,  I  wonder?  And  why  did 
you  let  that  horrid  little  beast  come  in  here  ?  You 
know  I  detest  him." 

"He  isn't  horrid!"  said  Tessa,  instantly  on  the 
defensive.  "And  I  couldn't  help  him  coming  in. 
I  didn't  know  you  were  here,  but  it  isn't  your 
bungalow  anyway,  and  Aunt  Mary  doesn't  mind 
him." 

"Oh,  go  away!"  said  Netta  with  irritation. 
"You  get  more  insufferable  every  day.  Take 
the  little  brute  with  you  and  shut  him  up — or 
drown  him!" 

Tessa  came  forward  with  an  insolent  shrug. 
There  was  more  than  a  spice  of  defiance  in  her 
bearing. 

"I  don't  suppose  I  can  catch  him,"  she  said. 
"But  I'll  try." 

The  chase  of  the  elusive  Scooter  that  followed 
would  have  been  an  affair  of  pure  pleasure  to  the 
child,  had  it  not  been  for  the  presence  of  her  mother 
and  the  growing  exasperation  with  which  she 
regarded  it.  It  was  all  sheer  fun  to  Scooter  who 
wormed  in  and  out  of  the  furniture  with  mirth  in 
his  gleaming  eyes,  and  darted  past  the  window  a 
dozen  times  without  availing  himself  of  that  means 
of  escape. 

Netta's  small  stock  of  patience  was  very  speedily 


43^       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

exhausted.  She  sat  up  on  the  sofa  and  sternly 
commanded  Tessa  to  desist. 

"Go  and  tell  the  khit  to  catch  him!"  she  said. 

Tessa,  however,  by  this  time  had  also  warmed 
to  the  game.  She  paid  no  more  attention  to  her 
mother's  order  than  she  would  have  paid  to  the 
buzzing  of  a  mosquito.  And  when  Scooter  dived 
under  the  sofa  on  which  Netta  had  been  reclining, 
she  burrowed  after  him  with  a  squeal  of  merri- 
ment. 

It  was  too  much  for  Netta  whose  feelings  had 
been  decidedly  ruffled  before  Tessa's  entrance. 
As  Scooter  shot  out  on  the  other  side  of  her,  run- 
ning his  queer  zigzag  course,  she  snatched  the  first 
thing  that  came  to  hand,  which  chanced  to  be  a 
heavy  bronze  weight  from  the  writing-table  at  her 
elbow,  and  hurled  it  at  him  with  all  her  strength. 

Scooter  collapsed  on  the  floor  like  a  broken 
mechanical  toy.  Tessa  uttered  a  wild  scream  and 
flung  herself  upon  him. 

Netta  gasped  hysterically,  horrified  but  still 
angry.  "It  serves  him  right — serves  you  both 
right!  Now  go  away!"  she  said. 

Tessa  turned  or  her  knees  on  the  floor.  Scooter 
was  feebly  kicking  in  her  arms.  The  missile  had 
struck  him  on  the  head  and  one  eye  was  terribly 
injured.  She  gathered  him  up  to  her  little  narrow 
chest,  and  he  ceased  to  kick  and  became  quite 
still. 

Over  his  lifeless  body  she  looked  at  her  mother 
with  eyes  of  burning  furious  hatred.  "You've 


Tessa's  Mother  439 

killed  him!"  she  said,  her  voice  sunk  very  low. 
"And  I  hope — oh,  I  do  hope — some  day — some- 
one— will  kill  you!" 

There  was  that  about  her  at  the  moment  that 
actually  frightened  Netta,  and  it  was  with  un- 
doubted relief  that  she  saw  the  door  open  and 
Major  Ralston's  loose-knit  lounging  figure  block 
the  entrance. 

"What's  all  this  noise  about?"  he  began,  and 
stopped  short. 

Behind  him  stood  another  figure,  broad,  power- 
ful, not  overtall.  At  sight  of  it,  Tessa  uttered  a 
hard  sob  and  scrambled  to  her  feet.  She  still 
clasped  poor  Scooter's  dead  body  to  her  breast, 
and  his  blood  was  on  her  face  and  on  the  white 
frock  she  wore. 

"Uncle  St.  Bernard!  Look!  Look!"  she  said. 
"She's  killed  my  Scooter!" 

Netta  also  arose  at  this  juncture.  "Oh,  do  take 
that  horrible  thing  away!"  she  said.  "If  it's 
dead,  so  much  the  better.  It  was  no  more  than  a 
weasel  after  all.  I  hate  such  pets. " 

Major  Ralston  found  himself  abruptly  though 
not  roughly  pushed  aside.  Bernard  Monck 
swooped  down  with  the  action  of  a  practised  foot- 
baller and  took  the  furry  thing  out  of  Tessa's  hold. 
His  eyes  were  very  bright  and  intensely  alert,  but 
he  did  not  seem  aware  of  Tessa's  mother. 

"Come  with  me,  darling!"  he  said  to  the  child. 
"P'raps  I  can  help." 

He  trod  upon  the  carved  bronze  that  had  slain 


44°       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Scooter  as  he  turned,  and  he  left  the  mark  of  his 
heel  upon  it — the  deep  impress  of  an  angry  giant. 

The  door  closed  with  decision  upon  himself  and 
the  child,  and  Major  Ralston  was  left  alone  with 
Netta. 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  flushed  face  ready  to 
defy  remonstance,  but  he  stooped  without  speaking 
and  picked  up  the  thing  that  Bernard  had  tried  to 
grind  to  powder,  surveyed  it  with  a  lifted  brow 
and  set  it  back  in  its  place. 

Netta  promptly  collapsed  upon  the  sofa.  "Oh, 
it  is  too  bad!"  she  sobbed.  "It  really  is  too  bad! 
Now  I  suppose  you  too — are  going  to  be  brutal. " 

Major  Ralston  cleared  his  throat.  There  was 
certainly  no  sympathy  in  his  aspect,  but  his 
manner  was  wholly  lacking  in  brutality.  He  was 
never  brutal  to  women,  and  Netta  Ermsted  was 
his  guest  as  well  as  his  patient. 

After  a  moment  he  sat  down  beside  her,  and 
there  was  nothing  in  the  action  to  mark  it  a? 
heroic,  or  to  betray  the  fact  that  he  yearned  to 
stamp  out  of  the  room  after  Bernard  and  leave  her 
severely  to  her  hysterics. 

"No  good  in  being  upset  now,"  he  remarked. 
"The  thing's  done,  and  crying  won't  undo  it. " 

"I  don't  want  to  undo  it!"  declared  Netta.  "I 
always  did  detest  the  horrible  ferrety  thing. 
Tessa  couldn't  have  taken  it  Home  with  her  either, 
so  it's  just  as  well  it's  gone. "  She  dried  her  eyes 
with  a  vindictive  gesture,  and  reached  for  the 
cigarettes.  Hysterics  were  impossible  in  this 


Tessa's  Mother  441 

man's  presence.  He  was  like  a  shower  of  cold 
water. 

"I  shouldn't  if  I  were  you,"  remarked  Major 
Ralston  with  the  air  of  a  man  performing  a  labor- 
ious duty.  "You  smoke  too  many  of  'em. " 

Netta  ignored  the  admonition.  "They  soothe 
my  nerves, "  she  said.  "May  I  have  a  light?" 

He  searched  his  pockets,  and  apparently  drew 
a  blank. 

Netta  frowned  in  swift  irritation.  ' '  How  stupid ! 
I  thought  all  men  carried  matches. " 

Major  Ralston  accepted  the  reproof  in  silence. 
He  was  like  a  large  dog,  gravely  presenting  his 
shoulder  to  the  nips  of  a  toy  terrier. 

"Well?"  said  Netta  aggressively. 

He  looked  at  her  with  composure.  "Talking 
about  going  Home,"  he  said,  "at  the  risk  of 
appearing  inhospitable,  I  think  it  is  my  duty  to 
advise  you  very  strongly  to  go  as  soon  as  possible. " 

"Indeed!"  She  looked  back  with  instant  hos- 
tility. "And  why? " 

He  did  not  immediately  reply.  Whether  with 
reason  or  not,  he  had  the  reputation  for  being 
slow-witted,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was  a 
brilliant  chess-player. 

She  laughed — a  short,  unpleasant  laugh.  She 
was  never  quite  at  her  ease  with  him,  notwith- 
standing his  slowness.  "Why  the  devil  should  I, 
Major  Ralston?" 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  massive  deliber- 
ation. "Because,"  he  said  slowly,  "there's  going 


442       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

to  be  the  devil's  own  row  if  this  man  is  hanged  for 
your  husband's  murder.  We  have  been  warned 
to  that  effect. " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  also  with  infinite 
daintiness.  "Oh,  a  native  rumpus!  That  doesn't 
impress  me  in  the  least.  I  shan't  go  for  that. " 

Major  Ralston's  eyes  wandered  round  the  room 
as  if  in  search  of  inspiration.  ' '  Mary  is  going, "  he 
observed. 

Netta  laughed  again,  lightly,  flippantly.  ' '  Good 
old  Mary!  Where  is  she  going  to?" 

His  eyes  came  down  upon  her  suddenly  like  the 
flash  of  a  knife.  "She  has  consented  to  go  to  Bhul- 
wana  with  the  rest,"  he  said.  "But  I  beg  you 
will  not  accompany  her  there.  As  Captain  Erm- 
sted's  widow  and — "  he  spoke  as  one  hewing  his 
way — "the  chosen  friend  of  the  Rajah,  your  posi- 
tion in  the  State  is  one  of  considerable  difficulty — 
possibly  even  of  danger.  And  I  do  not  propose 
to  allow  my  wife  to  take  unnecessary  risks.  For 
that  reason  I  must  ask  you  to  go  before  matters 
come  to  a  head.  You  have  stayed  too  long 
already." 

"Good  gracious!"  said  Netta,  opening  her  eyes 
wide.  "But  if  Mary's  sacred  person  is  to  be 
safely  stowed  at  Bhulwana,  what  is  to  prevent  my 
remaining  here  if  I  so  choose?" 

"Because  I  don't  choose  to  let  you,  Mrs.  Erm- 
sted,"  said  Major  Ralston  steadily. 

She  gazed  at  him.  "You  —  don't  —  choose! 
You!" 


Tessa's  Mother  443 

His  eyes  did  battle  with  hers.  Since  that  slight- 
ing allusion  to  his  wife,  he  had  no  consideration 
left  for  Netta.  "That  is  so, "  he  said,  in  his  heavy 
fashion.  "I  have  already  pointed  out  that  you 
would  be  well-advised  on  your  own  account  to  go — 
not  to  mention  the  child's  safety. " 

"Oh,  the  child!"  There  was  keenness  about 
the  exclamation  which  almost  amounted  to  actual 
dislike.  "I'm  tired  to  death  of  having  Tessa's 
welfare  and  Tessa's  morals  rammed  down  my 
throat.  Why  should  I  make  a  fetish  of  the  child  ? 
What  is  good  enough  for  me  is  surely  good  enough 
for  her. " 

"I  am  afraid  I  don't  agree  with  you,  "  said  Major 
Ralston. 

"You  wouldn't,"  she  rejoined.  "You  and 
Mary  are  quite  antediluvian  in  your  idea.  But 
that  doesn't  influence  me.  I  am  glad  to  say  I  am 
more  up  to  date.  If  I  can't  stay  here,  I  shall  go  to 
Udalkhand.  There's  a  hotel  there  as  well  as  here. " 

"Of  sorts,"  said  Major  Ralston.  "Also  Udal- 
khand is  nearer  to  the  seat  of  disturbance. " 

"Well,  I  don't  care."  Netta  spoke  recklessly. 
"I'm  not  going  to  be  dictated  to.  What  a  mighty 
scare  you're  all  in!  What  can  you  think  will 
happen  even  if  a  few  natives  do  get  out  of  hand?" 

"Plenty  of  things  might  happen,"  he  rejoined, 
getting  up.  "  But  that  by  the  way.  If  you  won't 
listen  to  reason  I  am  wasting  my  time.  But — " 
he  spoke  with  abrupt  emphasis — "you  will  not 
take  Tessa  to  Udalkhand  " 


444       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Netta's  eyes  gleamed.  "I  shall  take  her  to 
Kamtchatka  if  I  choose,  "she  said. 

For  the  first  time  a  smile  crossed  Major  Ral- 
ston's  face.  He  turned  to  the  door.  "And  if  she 
chooses,"  he  said,  with  malicious  satisfaction. 

The  door  closed  upon  him,  and  Netta  was  left 
alone. 

She  remained  motionless  for  a  few  moments 
showing  her  teeth  a  little  in  an  answering  smile; 
then  with  a  swift,  lissom  movement,  that  would 
have  made  Tommy  compare  her  to  a  lizard,  she 
rose. 

With  a  white,  determined  face  she  bent  over  the 
writing-table  and  scribbled  a  hasty  note.  Her 
hand  shook,  but  she  controlled  it  resolutely. 

Words  flicked  rapidly  into  being  under  her  pen : 
"I  shall  be  behind  the  tamarisks  to-night." 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE  BROAD  ROAD 

BERNARD  MONCK  never  forgot  the  day  of 
Scooter's  death.  It  was  as  indelibly  fixed  in  his 
memory  as  in  that  of  Tessa. 

The  child's  wild  agony  of  grief  was  of  so  utterly 
abandoned  a  nature  as  to  be  almost  Oriental  in  its 
violence.  The  passionate  force  of  her  resentment 
against  her  mother  also  was  not  easy  to  cope  with 
though  he  quelled  it  eventually.  But  when  that 
was  over,  when  she  had  wept  herself  exhausted  in 
his  arms  at  last,  there  followed  a  period  of  numb- 
ness that  made  him  seriously  uneasy. 

Mrs.  Ralston  had  gone  out  before  the  tragedy 
had  occurred,  but  Major  Ralston  presently  came 
to  his  relief.  He  stooped  over  Tessa  with  a  few 
kindly  words,  but  when  he  saw  the  child's  face 
his  own  changed  somewhat. 

"This  won't  do,"  he  said  to  Bernard,  holding 
the  slender  wrist.  "We  must  get  her  to  bed. 
Where's  her  ayah?" 

Tessa's  little  hand  hung  limply  in  his  hold. 
She  seemed  to  be  half-asleep.  Yet  when  Bernard 
moved  to  lift  her,  she  roused  herself  to  cling  around 
his  neck. 

445 


446       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Please  keep  me  with  you,  dear  Uncle  St.  Ber- 
nard! Oh,  please  don't  go  away!" 

"I  won't,  sweetheart, "  he  promised  her. 

The  ayah  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  but  it  was 
doubtful  if  her  presence  would  have  made  much 
difference,  since  Tessa  would  not  stir  from  her 
friend's  sheltering  arms,  and  wept  again  weakly 
even  at  the  doctor's  touch. 

So  it  was  Bernard  who  carried  her  to  her  room, 
and  eventually  put  her  to  bed  under  Major 
Ralston 's  directions.  The  latter 's  face  was  very 
grave  over  the  whole  proceeding  and  he  presently 
fetched  something  in  a  medicine-glass  and  gave  it 
to  Bernard  to  administer. 

Tessa  tried  to  refuse  it,  but  her  opposition 
broke  down  before  Bernard's  very  gentle  in- 
sistence. She  would  do  anything,  she  told  him 
piteously,  if  only — if  only — he  would  stay  with 
her. 

So  Bernard  stayed,  sending  a  message  to  The 
Green  Bungalow  to  explain  his  absence,  which 
found  Mrs.  Ralston  as  well  as  Stella  and  brought 
the  former  back  in  haste. 

Tessa  was  in  a  deep  sleep  by  the  time  she  arrived, 
but,  hearing  that  Stella  did  not  need  him,  Bernard 
still  maintained  his  watch,  only  permitting  Mrs. 
Ralston  to  relieve  him  while  he  partook  of  luncheon 
with  her  husband. 

Netta  did  not  appear  for  the  meal  to  the 
unspoken  satisfaction  of  them  both.  They  ate 
almost  in  silence,  Major  Ralston  being  sunk  in  a 


The  Broad  Road  447 

species  of  moody  abstraction  which  Bernard  did 
not  disturb  until  the  meal  was  over. 

Then  at  length,  ere  he  rose  to  go,  he  deliberately 
broke  into  his  host's  gloomy  reflections.  "Will 
you  tell  me,"  he  said  courteously,  "exactly  what 
it  is  that  you  fear  with  regard  to  the  child  ? " 

Major  Ralston  continued  to  be  abstracted  for 
fully  thirty  seconds  after  the  quiet  question ;  then, 
as  Bernard  did  not  repeat  it  but  merely  waited,  he 
replied  to  it. 

"There  are  plenty  of  things  to  be  feared  for  a 
child  like  that.  It's  a  criminal  shame  to  have  kept 
her  out  here  so  long.  What  I  actually  believe  to 
be  the  matter  at  the  present  moment,  is  heart 
trouble." 

"Ah!  I  thought  so."  Bernard  looked  across 
at  him  with  grave  comprehension.  "She  had  a 
bad  shock  the  other  day. " 

"Yes;  a  shock  to  the  whole  system.  She  lives 
on  wires  in  any  case.  I  am  going  to  examine  her 
presently,  but  I  am  pretty  sure  I  am  right.  What 
she  really  wants — '  Major  Ralston  stopped 
himself  abruptly,  so  abruptly  that  a  twinkle  of 
humour  shone  momentarily  in  Bernard's  eyes. 

"Don't  jam  on  the  brakes  on  my  account!"  he 
protested  gently.  "I  am  with  you  all  the  way. 
What  does  she  really  want?" 

Major  Ralston  uttered  a  gruff  laugh.  It  was 
practically  impossible  not  to  confide  in  Bernard 
Monck.  "She  wants  to  get  right  away  from 
that  vicious  little  termagant  of  a  mother  of  hers. 


448       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

There's  no  love  between  them  and  never  will  be, 
so  what's  the  use  of  pretending?  She  wants  to 
get  into  a  wholesome  bracing,  outdoor  atmosphere 
with  someone  who  knows  how  to  love  her.  She'll 
probably  go  straight  to  the  bad  if  she  doesn't — that 
is,  if  she  lives  long  enough. " 

The  humour  had  died  in  Bernard's  eyes.  They 
shone  with  a  very  different  light  as  he  said, ' '  I  have 
thought  the  same  thing  myself. "  He  paused  a  mo- 
ment, then  slowly, ' '  Do  you  think  her  mother  would 
be  persuaded  to  hand  her  over  to  me?"  he  said. 

Ralston 's  brows  went  up.  "To  you!  For  good 
and  all  do  you  mean?" 

"Yes."  In  his  steady  unhurried  fashion  Ber- 
nard made  answer.  ' '  I  have  been  thinking  of  it 
for  some  time.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  to  con- 
sult you  about  it  that  I  came  here  to-day.  I  want 
it  more  than  ever  now. " 

Ralston  was  staring  openly.  "You'd  have  your 
hands  full, "  he  remarked. 

Bernard  smiled.  "I  daresay.  But,  you  see, 
we're  chums.  To  use  your  own  expression  I  know 
how  to  love  her.  I  could  make  her  happy — possi- 
bly good  as  well." 

Ralston  never  paid  compliments,  but  after  a 
considerable  pause  he  said,  "It  would  be  the  best 
thing  that  ever  happened  to  the  imp.  So  far  as 
her  mother's  permission  goes,  I  should  say  she  is 
cheap  enough  to  be  had  almost  without  asking. 
You  won't  need  to  use  much  persuasion  in  that 
direction." 


The  Broad  Road  449 

"An  infernal  shame!"  said  Bernard,  the  hot 
light  again  in  his  eyes. 

Ralston  agreed  with  him.  "All  the  same,  Tessa 
can  be  a  positive  little  demon  when  she  likes. 
I've  seen  it,  so  I  know.  She  has  got  a  good  deal  of 
her  mother's  temperament  only  with  a  generous 
allowance  of  heart  thrown  in. " 

"Yes, "  Bernard  said.  "And  it's  the  heart  that 
counts.  You  can  do  practically  anything  with  a 
child  like  that." 

Ralston  got  up.  "Well,  I'm  going  to  have 
another  look  at  her,  and  then  I'm  due  at  The 
Green  Bungalow.  I  can't  say  what  is  going  to 
happen  there.  You  ought  to  clear  out,  all  of  you; 
but  a  journey  would  probably  be  fatal  to  Mrs. 
Monck's  infant  just  now.  I  can't  advise  it." 

"Wherever  Stella  goes,  I  go,"  said  Bernard 
firmly. 

"Yes,  that's  understood."  Ralston  gave  him 
a  keen  look.  "You're  in  charge,  aren't  you? 
But  those  who  can  go,  must  go,  that's  certain. 
That  scoundrel  will  be  convicted  in  a  day  or  two. 
And  then — look  out  for  squalls!" 

Bernard's  smile  was  scarcely  the  smile  of  the 
man  of  peace.  "Oh  yes,  I  shall  look  out, "  he  said 
mildly.  "And — incidentally — Tommy  is  teach- 
ing me  how  to  shoot. " 

They  returned  to  Tessa  who  was  still  sleeping, 
and  Mrs.  Ralston  gave  up  her  place  beside  her  to 
Bernard,  who  settled  down  with  a  paper  to  spend 
the  afternoon.  Major  Ralston  departed  for  The 


450       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Green  Bungalow,  and  the  silence  of  midday  fell 
upon  the  place. 

It  was  still  early  in  the  year,  but  the  warmth  was 
as  that  of  a  soft  summer  day  in  England.  The 
lazy  drone  of  bees  hung  on  the  air,  and  somewhere 
among  the  tamarisks  a  small,  persistent  bird, 
called  and  called  perpetually,  receiving  no  reply. 

"A  fine  example  of  perseverance,"  Bernard 
murmured  to  himself. 

He  had  plenty  of  things  to  think  about — to 
worry  about  also,  had  it  been  his  disposition  to 
worry;  but  the  utter  peace  that  surrounded  him 
made  him  drowsy.  He  nodded  uncomfortably  for 
a  space,  then  finally — since  he  seldom  did  things 
by  halves — laid  aside  his  paper,  leaned  back  in  his 
chair,  and  serenely  slept. 

Twice  during  the  afternoon  Mrs.  Ralston  tip- 
toed along  the  verandah,  peeped  in  upon  them,  and 
retired  again  smiling.  On  the  second  occasion  she 
met  her  husband  on  the  same  errand  and  he  drew 
her  aside,  his  hand  through  her  arm. 

"Look  here,  Mary!  I've  talked  to  that  little 
spitfire  without  much  result.  She  talks  in  a  ran- 
dom fashion  of  going  to  Udalkhand.  What  her 
actual  intentions  are  I  don't  know.  Possibly  she 
doesn't  know  herself.  But  one  thing  is  certain. 
She  is  not  going  to  be  attached  to  your  train  any 
longer,  and  I  have  told  her  so. " 

"Oh,  Gerald!"  She  looked  at  him  in  dismay. 
' '  How — inhospitable  of  you ! ' ' 

44  Yes,  isn't  it?"     His  hand  was  holding  her  arm 


The  Broad  Road  45* 

firmly.  "You  see,  I  chance  to  value  your  safety 
more  than  my  reputation  for  kindness  to  outsiders. 
You  are  going  to  Bhulwana  at  the  end  of  this  week. 
Come !  You  promised . ' ' 

"Yes,  I  know  I  did."  She  looked  at  him  with 
distress  in  her  eyes.  "I've  wished  I  hadn't  ever 
since.  There  is  my  poor  Stella  in  bad  trouble  for 
one  thing.  She  says  she  will  have  to  change  her 
ayah.  And  there  is " 

"She  has  got  Peter — and  her  brother-in-law. 
She  doesn't  want  you  too, "  said  her  husband. 

"And  now  there  is  little  Tessa,"  proceeded  Mrs. 
Ralston,  growing  more  and  more  worried  as  she 
proceeded. 

"Yes,  there  is  Tessa,"  he  agreed.  "You  can 
offer  to  take  her  to  Bhulwana  with  you  if  you  like. 
But  not  her  mother  as  well.  That  is  understood. 
It  won't  break  her  heart  to  part  with  her,  I  fancy. 
As  for  you,  my  dear,"  he  gave  her  a  whimsical 
look,  "the  sooner  you  are  gone  the  better  I  shall  be 
pleased.  Lady  Harriet  and  the  Burton  contin- 
gent left  to-day." 

"I  hate  going!"  declared  Mrs.  Ralston  almost 
tearfully.  "I  shouldn't  have  promised  if  I  could 
have  foreseen  all  that  was  going  to  happen. " 

He  squeezed  her  arm.  "All  the  same — you 
promised.  So  don't  be  silly!" 

She  turned  suddenly  and  clung  to  him. 

"Gerald!  I  want  to  stay  with  you.  Let  me 
stay !  I  can't  bear  the  thought  of  you  alone  and 
in  danger." 


452       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

He  stared  for  a  moment  in  astonishment. 
Demonstrations  of  affection  were  almost  unknown 
between  them.  Then,  with  a  shamefaced  gesture, 
he  bent  and  kissed  her. 

' '  What  a  silly  old  woman ! "  he  said. 

That  ended  the  discussion  and  she  knew  that 
her  plea  had  been  refused.  But  the  fashion  of  its 
refusal  brought  the  warm  colour  to  her  faded  face, 
and  she  was  even  near  to  laughing  in  the  midst 
of  her  woe.  How  dear  of  Gerald  to  put  it  like 
that!  She  did  not  feel  that  she  had  ever  fully 
realized  his  love  for  her  until  that  moment. 

Seeing  that  her  presence  in  her  own  bungalow 
was  not  needed  just  then,  she  betook  herself  once 
more  to  Stella,  and  again  the  afternoon  silence 
fell  like  a  spell  of  enchantment.  That  there  could 
be  any  element  of  unrest  anywhere  within  that 
charmed  region  seemed  a  thing  impossible.  The 
peace  of  Eden  brooded  everywhere. 

The  evening  was  drawing  on  ere  Bernard  slowly 
emerged  from  his  serene  slumber  and  looked  at 
the  child  beside  him  Some  invisible  influence — or 
perhaps  some  bond  of  sympathy  between  them — 
had  awakened  her  at  the  same  moment,  for  her 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  him.  They  shone  intensely, 
mysteriously  blue  in  the  subdued  light,  wistful, 
searching  eyes,  wholly  unlike  the  eyes  of  a 
child. 

Her  hand  came  out  to  his.  "Have  you  been 
here  all  the  time,  dear?"  she  said. 

She  seemed  to  be  still  half-wrapped  in  the  veil 


The  Broad  Road  453 

of  sleep.  He  leaned  to  her,  holding  the  little 
hand  up  against  his  cheek. 

"Almost,  my  princess,"  he  said. 

She  nestled  to  him  snuggling  her  fair  head 
into  his  shoulder.  "I've  been  dreaming,"  she 
whispered. 

"Have  you,  my  darling?"  He  gathered  her 
close  with  a  compassionate  tenderness  for  the 
frailty  of  the  little  throbbing  body  he  held. 

Tessa's  arms  crept  round  his  neck.  ' '  I  dreamt, " 
she  said,  "that  you  and  I,  Uncle  St.  Bernard,  were 
walking  in  a  great  big  city,  and  there  was  a  church 
with  a  golden  spire.  There  were  a  lot  of  steps 
up  to  it — and  Scooter — "  a  sob  rose  in  her  throat 
and  was  swiftly  suppressed — "was  sunning  him- 
self on  the  top.  And  I  tried  to  run  up  the  steps 
and  catch  him,  but  there  were  always  more  and 
more  and  more  steps,  and  I  couldn't  get  any 
nearer.  And  I  cried  at  last,  I  was  so  tired  and 
disappointed.  And  then — "  the  bony  arms  tight- 
ened— "you  came  up  behind  me,  and  took  my 
hand  and  said,  'Why  don't  you  kneel  down  and 
pray?  It's  much  the  quickest  way.'  And  so 
I  did,"  said  Tessa  simply.  "And  all  of  a  sudden 
the  steps  were  gone,  and  you  and  I  went  in  to- 
gether. I  tried  to  pick  up  Scooter,  but  he  ran 
away,  and  I  didn't  mind  'cos  I  knew  he  was  safe. 
I  was  so  happy,  so  very  happy.  I  didn't  want  to 
wake  again."  A  doleful  note  crept  into  Tessa's 
voice;  she  swallowed  another  sob. 

Bernard  lifted  her  bodily  from  the  bed  to  his 


454       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

arms.  ' '  Don't  fret,  little  sweetheart !  I'm  here, " 
he  said. 

She  lifted  her  face  to  his,  very  wet  and  piteous. 
"Uncle  St.  Bernard,  I've  been  praying  and  praying 
— ever  such  a  lot  since  my  birthday-party.  You 
said  I  might,  didn't  you?  But  God  hasn't  taken 
any  notice." 

He  held  her  close.  "What  have  you  been 
praying  for,  my  darling?"  he  said. 

"I  do — so — want  to  be  your  little  girl,"  an- 
swered Tessa  with  a  break  in  her  voice.  ' '  I  never 
really  prayed  for  anything  before — only  the  things 
Aunt  Mary  made  me  say — and  they  weren't  what 
I  wanted.  But  I  do  want  this.  And  I  believe 
I'd  get  quite  good  if  I  was  your  little  girl.  I  told 
God  so,  but  I  don't  think  He  cared.  " 

"Yes.  He  did  care,  darling."  Very  softly 
Bernard  reassured  her.  "Don't  you  think  that 
ever!  He  is  going  to  answer  that  prayer  of 
yours — pretty  soon  now.  " 

"Oh,  is  He?"  said  Tessa,  brightening.  "How 
do  you  know?  Is  He  going  to  say  Yes?" 

"I  think  so.  "  Bernard's  voice  and  touch  were 
alike  motherly.  "But  you  must  be  patient  a 
little  longer,  my  princess  of  the  bluebell.  It 
isn't  good  for  us  to  have  things  straight  off  when 
we  want  them. " 

"You  do  want  me?"  insinuated  Tessa,  squeez- 
ing his  neck  very  hard. 

"Yes.     I  want  you  very  much,  "  he  said. 

"I  love  you,"  said  Tessa  with  passionate  warmth, 


The  Broad  Road  455 

"better — yes,  better  now  than  even  Uncle  Everard. 
And  I  didn't  think  I  ever  could  do  that. " 

"God  bless  you,  little  one!"  he  said. 

Later,  when  Major  Ralston  had  seen  her  again, 
they  had  another  conference.  The  doctor's  sus- 
spicious  were  fully  justified.  Tessa  would  need 
the  utmost  care. 

"She  shall  have  it,"  Bernard  said.  "But — I 
can't  leave  Stella  now.  I  shall  see  my  way  clearer 
presently. " 

"Quite  so,"  Ralston  agreed.  "My  wife  shall 
look  after  the  child  at  Bhulwana.  It  will  keep 
her  quiet. "  He  gave  Bernard  a  shrewd  look. 
"Perhaps  you — and  Mrs.  Monck  also — will  be 
on  your  way  Home  before  the  hot  weather, " 
he  said.  "In  that  case  she  could  go  with  you. " 

Bernard  was  silent.  It  was  impossible  to  look 
forward.  One  thing  was  certain.  He  could  not 
desert  Stella. 

Ralston  passed  on.  Being  reticent  himself  he 
respected  a  man  who  could  keep  his  own 
counsel. 

' '  What  about  Mrs.  Ermsted  ? "  he  said.  ' '  When 
will  you  see  her?" 

"To-night,"  said  Bernard,  setting  his  jaw. 

Ralston  smiled  briefly.  That  look  recalled  his 
brother.  "No  time  like  the  present, "  he  said. 

But  the  time  for  consultation  with  Netta  Erm- 
sted upon  the  future  of  her  child  was  already 
past.  When  Bernard,  very  firm  and  purposeful, 
walked  down  a^ain  after  dinner  that  night,  Ralston 


456       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

met  him  with  a  wry  expression  and  put  a  crumpled 
note  into  his  hand. 

"Mrs.  Ermsted  has  apparently  divined  your 
benevolent  intentions,  "  he  said. 

Bernard  read  in  silence,  with  meeting  brows. 

DEAR  MARY: 

This  is  to  wish  you  and  all  kind  friends  good-bye. 
So  that  there  may  be  no  misunderstanding  on  the  part 
of  our  charitable  gossips,  pray  tell  them  at  once  that 
I  have  finally  chosen  the  broad  road  as  it  really  suits 
me  best.  As  for  Tessa — I  bequeath  her  and  her  little 
morals  to  the  first  busybody  who  cares  to  apply  for 
them.  Perhaps  the  worthy  Father  Monck  would 
like  to  acquire  virtue  in  this  fashion.  I  find  the 
task  only  breeds  vice  in  me.  Many  thanks  for  your 
laborious  and,  I  fear,  wholly  futile  attempts  to  keep 
me  in  the  much  too  narrow  way. 

Yours, 

NETTA. 

Bernard  looked  up  from  the  note  with  such 
fiery  eyes  that  Ralston  who  was  on  the  verge  of  a 
scathing  remark  himself  had  to  stop  out  of  sheer 
curiosity  to  see  what  he  would  say. 

"A  damnably  cruel  and  heartless  woman!"  said 
Bernard  with  deliberation. 

Ralston's  smile  expressed  what  for  him  was 
warm  approval.  "She's  nothing  but  an  animal,  " 
he  said. 

Bernard  took  him  up  short.  "You  wrong  the 
animals, "  he  said.  "The  very  least  of  them  love 
their  young. " 


The  Broad  Road  457 

Ralston  shrugged  his  shoulders .  "  All  the  better 
for  Tessa  anyhow. " 

Bernard's  eyes  softened  very  suddenly.  He 
crumpled  the  note  into  a  ball  and  tossed  it  from 
him.  "Yes, "  he  said  quietly.  ' '  God  helping  me, 
it  shall  be  all  the  better  for  her.  " 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  DARK  NIGHT 

AN  owl  hooted  across  the  compound,  and  a 
paraquet  disturbed  by  the  outcry  uttered  a  shrill, 
indignant  protest.  An  immense  moon  hung  sus- 
pended as  it  were  in  mid-heaven,  making  all 
things  intense  with  its  radiance.  It  was  the  hour 
before  the  dawn. 

Stella  stood  at  her  window,  gazing  forth  and 
numbly  marvelling  at  the  splendour.  As  of  old, 
it  struck  her  like  a  weird  fantasy — this  Indian 
enchantment — poignant,  passionate,  holding  more 
of  anguish  than  of  ecstasy>  yet  deeply  magnetic, 
deeply  alluring,  as  a  magic  potion  which,  once 
tasted,  must  enchain  the  senses  for  ever. 

The  extravagance  of  that  world  of  dreadful 
black  and  dazzling  silver,  the  stillness  that  was 
yet  indescribably  electric,  the  unreality  that  was 
allegorically  real,  she  felt  it  all  as  a  vague  accom- 
paniment to  the  heartache  that  never  left  her — the 
scornful  mockery  of  the  goddess  she  had  refused 
to  worship. 

There  were  even  times  when  the  very  atmos- 
phere seemed  to  her  charged  with  hostility — a  ter- 
458 


The  Dark  Night  459 

rible  overwhelming  antagonism  that  closed  about 
her  in  a  narrowing  ring  which  serpent-wise  con- 
stricted her  ever  more  and  more,  from  which  she 
could  never  hope  to  escape.  For — still  the  old 
idea  haunted  her — she  was  a  trespasser  upon  for- 
bidden ground.  Once  she  had  been  cast  forth. 
But  she  had  dared  to  return,  braving  the  flaming 
sword.  And  now — and  now — it  barred  her  in, 
cutting  off  her  escape. 

For  she  was  as  much  a  prisoner  as  if  iron  walls 
surrounded  her.  Sentence  had  gone  forth  against 
her.  She  would  not  be  cast  forth  again  until  she 
had  paid  the  uttermost  farthing,  endured  the 
ultimate  torture.  Then  only — childless  and  deso- 
late and  broken — would  she  be  turned  adrift  in  the 
desert,  to  return  no  more  for  ever. 

The  ghastly  glamour  of  the  night  attracted  and 
repelled  her  like  the  swing  of  a  mighty  pendulum. 
She  was  trying  to  pray — that  much  had  Bernard 
taught  her — but  her  prayer  only  ran  blind  and 
futile  through  her  brain.  The  hour  should  have 
been  sacred,  but  it  was  marred  and  desecrated  by 
the  stark  glare  of  that  nightmare  moon.  She  was 
worn  out  with  long  and  anxious  watching,  and  she 
had  almost  ceased  to  look  for  comfort,  so  heavy 
were  the  clouds  that  menaced  her. 

The  thought  of  Everard  was  ever  with  her, 
strive  as  she  might  to  drive  it  out.  At  such  mo- 
ments as  these  she  yearned  for  him  with  a  sick 
and  desperate  longing — his  strength,  his  tenderness, 
his  understanding.  He,  and  he  alone,  would  have 


460       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

known  how  to  comfort  her  now  with  her  baby 
dying  before  her  eyes.  He  would  have  held  her  up 
through  her  darkest  hours.  His  arm  would  have 
borne  her  forward  however  terrible  the  path. 

She  had  Bernard  and  she  had  Tommy,  each 
keen  and  ready  in  her  service.  She  sometimes 
thought  that  but  for  Bernard  she  would  have  been 
overwhelmed  long  since.  But  he  could  not  fill  the 
void  within  her.  He  could  not  even  touch  the 
aching  longing  that  gnawed  so  perpetually  at  her 
heart.  That  was  a  pain  she  would  have  to  endure 
in  silence  all  the  rest  of  her  life.  She  did  not 
think  she  would  ever  see  Everard  again.  Though 
only  a  few  miles  lay  between  them  at  present  he 
might  have  been  already  a  world  away.  She  was 
sure  he  would  not  come  back  to  her  unless  she 
summoned  him.  The  manner  of  his  going,  though 
he  had  taken  no  leave  of  her,  had  been  somehow 
final.  And  she  could  not  call  him  back  even  if  she 
would.  He  had  deceived  her  cruelly,  of  set  inten- 
tion, and  she  could  never  trust  him  again.  The 
memory  of  Ralph  Dacre  tainted  all  her  thoughts 
of  him.  He  had  sworn  he  had  not  killed  him. 
Perhaps  not — perhaps  not!  Yet  was  the  convic- 
tion ever  with  her  that  he  had  sent  him  to  his 
death,  had  intended  him  to  die. 

She  had  given  up  reasoning  the  matter.  It  was 
beyond  her.  She  was  too  hopelessly  plunged  in 
darkness.  Tommy  with  all  his  staunchness  could 
not  lift  that  overwhelming  cloud.  And  Bernard  ? 
She  did  not  know  what  Bernard  thought  save  that 


The  Dark  Night  461 

he  had  once  reminded  her  that  a  man  should  be 
regarded  as  innocent  unless  he  could  be  proved 
guilty. 

It  was  common  talk  now  that  Everard's  Indian 
career  was  ended.  It  was  only  the  trial  at  Khan- 
mulla  that  had  delayed  the  sending  in  of  his  papers. 
He  was  as  much  a  broken  man,  however  hotly 
Tommy  contested  the  point,  as  if  he  had  been 
condemned  by  a  court-martial.  Surely,  had  he 
been  truly  innocent  he  would  have  demanded  a 
court-martial  and  vindicated  himself.  But  he 
had  suffered  his  honour  to  go  down  in  silence. 
What  more  damning  evidence  could  be  supplied 
than  this? 

The  dumb  sympathy  of  Peter's  eyes  kept  the 
torturing  thought  constantly  before  her.  She  felt 
sure  that  Peter  believed  him  guilty  of  Dacre's 
murder  though  it  was  more  than  possible  that  in 
his  heart  he  condoned  the  offence.  Perhaps  he 
even  admired  him  for  it,  she  reflected  shudderingly. 
But  his  devotion  to  her,  as  always,  was  uppermost. 
His  dog-like  fidelity  surrounded  her  with  unfailing 
service.  The  ayah  had  gone,  and  he  had  slipped 
into  her  place  as  naturally  as  if  he  had  always 
occupied  it.  Even  now,  while  Stella  stood  at  her 
window  gazing  forth  into  the  garish  moonlight, 
was  he  softly  padding  to  and  fro  in  the  room 
adjoining  hers,  hushing  the  poor  little  wailing 
infant  to  sleep.  She  could  trust  him  implicitly, 
she  knew,  even  in  moments  of  crisis.  He  would 
gladly  work  himself  to  death  in  her  service.  But 


462       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

with  Mrs.  Ralston  gone  to  Bhulwana,  she  knew 
she  must  have  further  help.  The  strain  was 
incessant,  and  Major  Ralston  insisted  that  she 
must  have  a  woman  with  her. 

All  the  ladies  of  the  station,  save  herself,  had 
gone.  She  knew  vaguely  that  some  sort  of  dis- 
turbance was  expected  at  Khanmulla,  and  that  it 
might  spread  to  Kurrumpore.  But  her  baby  was 
too  ill  for  travel;  she  had  practically  forced  this 
truth  from  Major  Ralston,  and  so  she  had  no  choice 
but  to  remain.  She  knew  very  well  at  the  heart 
of  her  that  it  would  not  be  for  long. 

No  thought  of  personal  danger  troubled  her. 
Sinister  though  the  night  might  seem  to  her 
stretched  nerves,  yet  no  sense  of  individual  peril 
penetrated  the  weary  bewilderment  of  her  brain. 
She  was  tired  out  in  mind  and  body,  and  had 
yielded  to  Peter's  persuasion  to  take  a  rest.  But 
the  weird  cry  of  the  night-bird  had  drawn  her  to 
the  window  and  the  glittering  splendour  of  the 
night  had  held  her  there.  She  turned  from  it  at 
last  with  a  long,  long  sigh,  and  lay  down  just  as 
she  was.  She  always  held  herself  ready  for  a  call 
at  any  time.  Those  strange  seizures  came  so 
suddenly  and  were  becoming  increasingly  violent. 
It  was  many  days  since  she  had  permitted  herself 
to  sleep  soundly. 

She  lay  for  awhile  wide-eyed,  almost  painfully 
conscious,  listening  to  Peter's  muffled  movements 
in  the  other  room.  The  baby  had  ceased  to  cry, 
but  he  was  still  prowling  to  and  fro,  tireless  and 


The  Dark  Night  463 

patient,  with  an  endurance  that  was  almost  super- 
human. 

She  had  done  the  same  thing  a  little  earlier  till 
her  limbs  had  given  way  beneath  her.  In  the 
daytime  Bernard  helped  her,  but  she  and  Peter 
shared  the  nights. 

Her  senses  became  at  last  a  little  blurred.  The 
night  seemed  to  have  spread  over  half  a  lifetime — a 
practically  endless  vista  of  suffering.  The  soft 
footfall  in  the  other  room  made  her  think  of  the 
Sentry  at  the  Gate,  that  Sentry  with  the  flaming 
sword  who  never  slept.  It  beat  with  a  pitiless 
thudding  upon  her  brain.  .  .  . 

Later,  it  grew  intermittent,  fitful,  as  if  at  each 
turn  the  Sentry  paused.  It  always  went  on  again, 
or  so  she  thought.  And  she  was  sure  she  was  not 
deeply  sleeping,  or  that  haunting  cry  of  an  owl  had 
not  penetrated  her  consciousness  so  frequently. 

Once,  oddly,  there  came  to  her — perhaps  it  was  a 
dream — a  sound  as  of  voices  whispering  together. 
She  turned  in  her  sleep  and  tried  to  listen,  but  her 
senses  were  fogged,  benumbed.  She  could  not  at 
the  moment  drag  herself  free  from  the  stupor  of 
weariness  that  held  her.  But  she  was  sure  of 
Peter,  quite  sure  that  he  would  call  her  if  any 
emergency  arose.  And  there  was  no  one  with 
whom  he  could  be  whispering.  So  she  was  sure  it 
must  be  a  dream.  Imperceptibly  she  sank  still 
deeper  into  slumber  and  forgot.  .  .  . 

It  was  several  hours  later  that  Tommy,  returned 
from  early  parade,  flung  himself  impetuously  down 


464       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

at  the  table  opposite  Bernard  with  a  brief,  "Now 
for  it!" 

Bernard  was  reading  a  letter,  and  Tommy's 
eyes  fastened  upon  it  as  his  were  lifted. 

"What's  that?  A  letter  from  Everard?"  he 
asked  unceremoniously. 

"Yes.  He  has  written  to  tell  me  definitely  that 
he  has  sent  in  his  resignation — and  it  has  been 
accepted."  Bernard's  reply  was  wholly  court- 
eous, the  boy's  bluntness  notwithstanding.  He 
had  a  respect  for  Tommy. 

"Oh,  damn ! ' '  said  Tommy  with  fervor.  ' 'What 
is  he  going  to  do  now?" 

"He  doesn't  tell  me  that."  Bernard  folded 
the  letter  and  put  it  in  his  pocket.  "What's  your 
news?"  he  inquired. 

Tommy  marked  the  action  with  somewhat 
jealous  eyes.  He  had  been  aware  of  Everard's 
intention  for  some  time.  It  had  been  more  or 
less  inevitable.  But  he  wished  he  had  written 
to  him  also.  There  were  several  things  he  would 
have  liked  to  know. 

He  looked  at  Bernard  rather  blankly,  ignoring 
his  question.  ' '  What  the  devil  is  he  going  to  do  ? " 
he  said.  ' '  Drop  out  ? ' ' 

Bernard's  candid  eyes  met  his.  "Honestly  I 
don't  know, "  he  said.  ' '  Perhaps  he  is  just  waiting 
for  orders. " 

"Will  he  come  back  here?"  questioned  Tommy. 

Bernard  shook  his  head.  "No.  I'm  pretty 
sure  he  won't  Now  tell  me  your  news ! " 


The  Dark  Night  465 

"Oh,  it's  nothing!"  said  Tommy  impatiently. 
"Nothing,  I  mean,  compared  to  his  clearing  out. 
The  trial  is  over  and  the  man  is  condemned.  He 
is  to  be  executed  next  week.  It'll  mean  a  shine 
of  some  sort — nothing  very  great,  I  am  afraid.  " 

' '  That  all  ? "  said  Bernard,  with  a  smile. 

"No,  not  quite  all.  There  was  some  secret 
information  given  which  it  is  supposed  was  rather 
damaging  to  the  Rajah,  for  he  has  taken  to  his 
heels.  No  one  knows  where  he  is,  or  at  least  no 
one  admits  he  does.  You  know  these  Oriental 
chaps.  They  can  cover  the  scent  of  a  rotten  her- 
ring. He'll  probably  never  turn  up  again.  The 
place  is  too  hot  to  hold  him.  He  can  finish  his 
rotting  in  another  corner  of  the  Empire ;  and  I  wish 
Netta  Ermsted  joy  of  her  bargain ! "  ended  Tommy 
with  vindictive  triumph. 

"My  good  fellow!"  protested  Bernard. 

Tommy  uttered  a  reckless  laugh.  "You  know 
it  as  well  as  I  do.  She  was  done  for  from  the 
moment  he  taught  her  the  opium  habit.  There's 
no  escape  from  that,  and  the  devil  knew  it.  I  say, 
what  a  mercy  it  will  be  when  you  can  get  Tessa 
away  to  England. " 

"And  Stella  too,"  said  Bernard,  turning  to  the 
subject  with  relief. 

"You  won't  do  that, "  said  Tommy  quickly. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  Bernard's  look  had 
something  of  a  piercing  quality. 

But  Tommy  eluded  all  search.  "I  do  know. 
I  can't  tell  you  how.  But  I'm  certain — dead 


466       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

certain — that  Stella  won't  go  back  to  England 
with  you  this  spring. " 

"You're  something  of  a  prophet,  Tommy," 
remarked  Bernard,  after  an  attentive  pause. 

"It's  not  my  only  accomplishment,"  rejoined 
Tommy  modestly.  "I'm  several  things  besides 
that.  I've  got  some  brains  too — just  a  few. 
Funny,  isn't  it?  Ah,  here  is  Stella!  Come  and 
break  your  fast,  old  girl!  What's  the  latest?" 

He  went  to  meet  her  and  drew  her  to  the  table. 
She  smiled  in  her  wan,  rather  abstracted  way  at 
Bernard  whom  she  had  seen  before. 

' '  Oh,  don't  get  up ! "  she  said.  ' '  I  only  came  for 
a  glimpse  of  you  both.  I  had  tiffin  in  my  room. 
Peter  saw  to  that.  Baby  is  very  weak  this  morn- 
ing, and  I  thought  perhaps,  Tommy  dear,  when 
you  go  back  you  would  see  Major  Ralston  for  me 
and  ask  him  to  come  up  soon.  "  She  sat  down  with 
an  involuntary  gesture  of  weariness. 

"Have  you  slept  at  all?"  Bernard  asked  her 
gently. 

"Oh  yes,  thank  you.  I  had  three  hours  of 
undisturbed  rest.  Peter  was  splendid.  " 

"You  must  have  another  ayah, "  Bernard  said. 
' '  It  isn't  fit  for  you  to  go  on  in  this  way.  " 

"No.  "  She  spoke  with  the  docility  of  exhaus- 
tion. "Peter  is  seeing  to  it.  He  always  sees  to 
everything.  He  knows  a  woman  in  the  bazaar 
who  would  do — an  elderly  woman — I  think  he 
said  she  is  the  grandmother  of  Hafiz  who  sells 
trinkets.  You  know  Hafiz,  I  expect?  I  don't 


The  Dark  Night  467 

like  him,  but  he  is  supposed  to  be  respectable,  and 
Peter  is  prepared  to  vouch  for  the  woman's  respect- 
ability. Only  she  has  been  terribly  disfigured  by 
an  accident,  burnt  I  think  he  said,  and  she  wears  a 
veil.  I  told  him  that  didn't  matter.  Baby  is  too 
ill  to  notice,  and  he  evidently  wants  me  to  have 
her.  He  says  she  has  been  used  to  English  child- 
ren, and  is  a  good  nurse.  That  is  what  matters 
chiefly,  so  I  have  told  him  to  engage  her.  " 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  "  Bernard  said. 

"Yes,  I  think  it  will  be  a  relief.  Those  scream- 
ing fits  are  so  terrible."  Stella  checked  a  sharp 
shudder.  ' '  Peter  would  not  recommend  her  if  he 
did  not  personally  know  her  to  be  trustworthy," 
she  added  quietly. 

"No.  ^Peter's  safe  enough, "  said  Tommy.  He 
was  bolting  his  meal  with  great  expedition.  "Is 
the  kiddie  worse,  Stella?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  that  in  her  tired  eyes 
that  went  straight  to  his  heart.  "He  is  a  little 
worse  every  day,"  she  said. 

Tommy  swore  into  his  cup  and  asked  no  further. 

A  few  moments  later  he  got  up,  gave  her  a  brief 
kiss,  and  departed. 

Stella  sat  on  with  her  chin  in  her  hand,  every 
line  of  her  expressing  the  weariness  c/f  the  hopeless 
watcher.  She  looked  crushed,  as  if  a  burden  she 
could  hardly  support  had  been  laid  upon  her. 

Bernard  looked  at  her  once  or  twice  without 
speaking.  Finally  he  too  rose,  went  round  to  her, 
knelt  beside  her,  put  his  arm  about  her. 


468       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Her  face  quivered  a  little.  "I've  got — to  keep 
strong,  "  she  said,  in  the  tone  of  one  who  had  often 
said  the  same  thing  in  solitude. 

' '  I  know,  "  he  said.  "And  so  you  will.  There's 
special  strength  given  for  such  times  as  these.  It 
won't  fail  you  now.  " 

She  put  her  hand  into  his.  "Thank  you, "  she 
said.  And  then,  with  an  effort,  "Do  you  know, 
Bernard,  I  tried — I  really  tried — to  pray  in  the 
night  before  I  lay  down.  But — there  was  some- 
thing so  wicked  about  it — I  simply  couldn't.  " 

"One  can't  always, "  he  said. 

"Oh,  have  you  found  that  too?"  she  asked. 

He  smiled  at  the  question.  "Of  course  I  have. 
So  has  everybody.  We're  only  children,  Stella. 
God  knows  that.  He  doesn't  expect  of  us  more 
than  we  can  manage.  Prayer  is  only  one  of  the 
means  we  have  of  reaching  Him.  It  can't  be  used 
always.  There  are  some  people  who  haven't  time 
for  prayer  even,  and  yet  they  may  be  very  near  to 
God.  In  times  of  stress  like  yours  one  is  often 
much  nearer  than  one  realizes.  You  will  find  that 
out  quite  suddenly  one  of  these  days,  find  that 
through  all  your  desert  journeying,  He  has  been 
guiding  you,  protecting  you,  surrounding  you  with 
the  most  loving  care.  And — because  the  night 
was  dark — you  never  knew  it. " 

"The  night  is  certainly  very  dark,"  Stella  said 
with  a  tremulous  smile.  "If  it  weren't  for  you  I 
don't  think  I  could  ever  get  through. " 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!"  he  said.     "If  it  weren't 


The  Dark  Night  469 

me  it  would  be  someone  else — or  possibly  a  closer 
vision  of  Himself.  There  is  always  something — 
something  to  which  later  you  will  look  back  and 
say,  'That  was  His  lamp  in  the  desert,  showing  the 
way.'  Don't  fret  if  you  can't  pray!  I  can  pray 
for  you.  You  just  keep  on  being  brave  and 
patient!  He  understands. " 

Stella's  fingers  pressed  upon  his.  "You  are 
good  to  me,  Bernard, "  she  said.  ' '  I  shall  think  of 
what  you  say — the  next  time  I  am  alone  in  the 
night. " 

His  arm  held  her  sustainingly.  "And  if  you're 
very  desolate,  child,  come  and  call  me!"  he  said. 
1 '  I'm  always  at  hand,  always  glad  to  serve  you.  " 

She  smiled — a  difficult  smile.  ' '  I  shall  need  you 
more — afterwards,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 
And  then,  as  if  words  had  suddenly  become 
impossible  to  her,  she  leaned  against  him  and 
kissed  him. 

He  gathered  her  up  close,  as  if  she  had  been  a 
weary  child.  ' '  God  bless  you,  my  dear ! "  he  said. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE   FIRST   GLIMMER 

IT  was  from  the  Colonel  himself  that  Stella 
heard  of  Everard's  retirement. 

He  walked  back  from  the  Mess  that  night  with 
Tommy  and  asked  to  see  her  for  a  few  minutes 
alone.  He  was  always  kinder  to  her  in  his  wife's 
absence. 

She  was  busy  installing  the  new  ayah  whom 
Peter  with  the  air  of  a  magician  who  has  but  to 
wave  his  wand  had  presented  to  her  half  an  hour 
before.  The  woman  was  old  and  bent  and  closely 
veiled — so  closely  that  Stella  strongly  suspected 
her  disfigurement  to  be  of  a  very  ghastly  nature, 
but  her  low  voice  and  capable  manner  inspired 
her  with  instinctive  confidence.  She  realized  with 
relief  from  the  very  outset  that  her  faithful  Peter 
had  not  made  a  mistake.  She  was  sure  that  the 
new-comer  had  nursed  sickly  English  children 
before.  She  went  to  the  Colonel,  leaving  the 
strange  woman  in  charge  of  her  baby  and  Peter 
hovering  reassuringly  in  the  background. 

His  first  greeting  of  her  had  a  touch  of  diffidence, 

470 


The  First  Glimmer  471 

but  when  he  saw  the  weary  suffering  of  her  eyes 
this  was  swallowed  up  in  pity.  He  took  her  hands 
and  held  them. 

"My  poor  girl!"  he  said. 

She  smiled  at  him.  Pity  from  an  outsider  did 
not  penetrate  to  the  depths  of  her.  ' '  Thank  you 
for  coming,  "  she  said. 

He  coughed  and  cleared  his  throat.  "I  hope  it 
isn't  an  intrusion, "  he  said. 

' '  But  of  course  not ! ' '  she  made  answer.  ' '  How 
could  it  be?  Won't  you  sit  down?" 

He  led  her  to  a  chair;  but  he  did  not  sit  down 
himself.  He  stood  before  her  with  something  of 
the  air  of  a  man  making  a  confession. 

"Mrs.  Monck,"  he  said,  "I  think  I  ought  to 
tell  you  that  it  was  by  my  advice  that  your  hus- 
band resigned  his  commission. " 

Her  brows  drew  together  a  little  as  if  at  a  mo- 
mentary dart  of  pain.  "Has  he  resigned  it?"  she 
said. 

"Yes.  Didn't  he  tell  you?"  He  frowned. 
"Haven't  you  seen  him?  Don't  you  know  where 
he  is?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "I  can  only  think  of  my 
baby  just  now, "  she  said. 

He  swung  round  abruptly  upon  his  heel  and 
paced  the  room.  "Oh  yes,  of  course.  I  know 
that.  Ralston  told  me.  I  am  very  sorry  for  you, 
Mrs.  Monck, — very,  very  sorry.  " 

"Thank  you,  "  she  said. 

He   continued   to   tramp   to   and   fro.     "You 


4T2       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

haven't  much  to  thank  me  for.  I  had  to  think 
of  the  Regiment ;  but  I  considered  the  step  very 
carefully  before  I  took  it.  He  had  rendered 
invaluable  service — especially  over  this  Khan- 
mulla  trial.  He  would  have  been  decorated  for  it 
if —  "  he  pulled  up  with  a  jerk — "if  things  had  been 
different.  I  know  Sir  Reginald  Bassett  thought 
very  highly  of  him,  was  prepared  to  give  him  an 
appointment  on  his  personal  staff.  And  no  doubt 
eventually  he  would  have  climbed  to  the  top  of  the 
tree.  But — this  affair  has  destroyed  him. "  He 
paused  a  moment,  but  he  did  not  look  at  her. 
"He  has  had  every  chance,"  he  said  then.  "I 
kept  an  open  mind.  I  wouldn't  condemn  him 
unheard  until — well  until  he  refused  flatly  to  speak 
on  his  own  behalf.  I  went  over  to  Khanmulla  and 
talked  to  him — talked  half  the  night.  I  couldn't 
move  him.  And  if  a  man  won't  take  the  trouble 
to  defend  his  own  honour,  it  isn't  worth — that!" 
He  snapped  his  fingers  with  a  bitter  gesture ;  then 
abruptly  wheeled  and  came  back  to  her.  "I 
didn't  come  here  to  distress  you, "  he  said,  looking 
down  at  her  again.  "I  know  your  cup  is  full 
already.  And  it's  a  thankless  task  to  persuade 
any  woman  that  her  husband  is  unworthy  of  her, 
besides  being  an  impertinence.  But  what  I  must 
say  to  you  is  this.  There  is  nothing  left  to  wait 
for,  and  it  would  be  sheer  madness  to  stay  on  any 
longer.  The  Rajah  has  been  deeply  incriminated 
and  is  in  hiding.  The  Government  will  of  course 
take  over  the  direction  of  affairs,  but  there  is 


The  First  Glimmer  473 

certain — absolutely  certain — to  be  a  disturbance 
when  Ermsted's  murderer  is  executed.  I  hope 
an  adequate  force  will  soon  be  at  our  disposal  to 
cope  with  it,  but  it  has  not  yet  been  provided. 
Therefore  I  cannot  possibly  permit  you  to  stay 
here  any  longer.  As  Monck's  wife,  it  is  more  than 
likely  that  you  might  be  made  an  object  of  ven- 
geance. I  can't  risk  it.  You  and  the  child  must 
go.  I  will  send  an  escort  in  the  morning.  " 

He  stopped  at  last,  partly  for  lack  of  breath, 
partly  because  from  her  unmoved  expression  he 
fancied  that  she  was  not  taking  in  his  warning 
words.  She  sat  looking  straight  before  her  as  one 
rapt  in  reverie.  It  was  almost  as  though  she 
had  forgotten  him,  suffered  some  more  absorbing 
matter  to  crowd  him  out  of  her  thoughts. 

"You  do  follow  me?"  he  questioned  at  length 
as  she  did  not  speak. 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  him  again  though  he  felt 
it  was  with  a  great  effort.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  said. 
"I  quite  understand  you,  Colonel  Mansfield. 
And— I  am  quite  grateful  to  you.  But  I  am  not 
staying  here  for  my  husband's  sake  at  all.  I — do 
not  suppose  we  shall  ever  see  each  other  any  more. 
All  that  is  over." 

He  started.  "What!  You  have  given  him 
up?"  he  said,  uttering  the  words  almost  in- 
voluntarily, so  quiet  was  she  in  her  despair. 

She  bent  her  head.  "Yes,  I  have  given  him  up. 
I  do  not  know  where  he  is — or  anything  about 
him.  I  am  staying  here  now — I  must  stay  here 


474       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

now — for  my  baby's  sake.  He  is  too  ill  to  bear  a 
journey." 

She  lifted  her  face  again  with  the  words,  and  in 
its  pale  resolution  he  saw  that  he  would  spend 
himself  upon  further  argument  in  vain.  More- 
over, he  was  for  the  moment  too  staggered  by 
the  low- spoken  information  to  concentrate  his  at- 
tention upon  persuasion.  Her  utter  quietness 
silenced  him. 

He  stood  for  a  moment  or  two  looking  down  at 
her,  then  abruptly  bent  and  took  her  hand. 
"You're  a  very  brave  woman,"  he  said,  a  quick 
touch  of  feeling  in  his  voice.  "You've  had  a 
fiendish  time  of  it  out  here  from  start  to  finish. 
It'll  be  a  good  thing  for  you  when  you  can  get  out 
of  it  and  go  Home.  You're  young;  you'll  start 
again. " 

It  was  clumsy  consolation,  but  his  hand-grip  was 
fatherly.  She  smiled  again  at  him,  and  got  up. 

"Thank  you  very  much,  Colonel.  You  have 
always  been  kind.  Please  don't  bother  about  me 
any  more.  I  am  really  not  a  bit  afraid.  I  have 
too  much  to  think  about.  And  really  I  don't 
think  I  am  important  enough  to  be  in  any  real 
danger.  You  will  excuse  me  now,  won't  you?  I 
have  just  got  a  new  ayah,  and  they  always  need 
superintending.  Perhaps  you  will  join  my  brother- 
in-law.  I  know  he  will  be  delighted. " 

She  extricated  herself  with  a  gentle  aloofness 
more  difficult  to  combat  than  any  open  opposition, 
and  he  went  away  to  express  himself  more  strongly 


The  First  Glimmer  475 

to  Bernard  Monckfrom  whom  he  was  sure  at  least 
of  receiving  sympathy  if  not  support. 

Stella  returned  to  her  baby  with  a  stunned  feel- 
ing of  having  been  struck,  and  yet  without  con- 
sciousness of  pain.  Perhaps  she  had  suffered  so 
much  that  her  faculties  were  getting  numbed. 
She  knew  that  the  Colonel  was  surprised  that  his 
news  concerning  Everard  had  affected  her  so  little. 
She  was  in  a  fashion  surprised  herself.  Was  she 
then  so  absorbed  that  she  had  no  room  for  him  in 
her  thoughts?  And  yet  only  the  previous  night 
how  she  had  yearned  for  him ! 

It  was  the  end  of  everything  for  him — the  end 
of  his  ambition,  of  his  career,  of  all  his  cherished 
hopes.  He  was  a  broken  man  and  he  would  drop 
out  as  other  men  had  dropped  out.  His  love  for 
her  had  been  his  ruin.  And  yet  her  brain  seemed 
incapable  of  grasping  the  meaning  of  the  cata- 
strophe. The  bearing  of  her  burden  occupied  the 
whole  of  her  strength. 

The  rest  of  the  Colonel's  news  scarcely  touched 
her  at  all,  save  that  the  thought  flashed  upon  her 
once  that  if  the  danger  were  indeed  so  great  Ever- 
ard would  certainly  come  to  her.  That  sent  a 
strange  glow  through  her  that  died  as  swiftly  as  it 
was  born.  She  did  not  really  believe  in  the  danger, 
and  Everard  was  probably  far  away  already. 

She  went  back  to  her  baby  and  the  ayah,  Hanani, 
over  whom  Peter  was  mounting  guard  with  a  queer 
mixture  of  patronage  and  respect.  For  though 
he  had  procured  the  woman  and  obviously  thought 


476       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

highly  of  her,  he  seemed  to  think  that  none  but 
himself  could  be  regarded  as  fully  qualified  to  have 
the  care  of  his  mem-sahib's  fondly  cherished  baba. 

Stella  heard  him  giving  some  low-toned  direc- 
tions as  she  entered,  and  she  wondered  if  the  new 
ayah  would  resent  his  lordly  attitude.  But  the 
veiled  head  bent  over  the  child  expressed  nothing 
but  complete  docility.  She  answered  Peter  in  few 
words,  but  with  the  utmost  meekness. 

Her  quietness  was  a  great  relief  to  Stella.  There 
was  a  self-reliance  about  it  that  gave  her  con- 
fidence. And  presently,  tenderly  urged  by  Peter, 
she  went  to  the  adjoining  room  to  rest,  on  the 
understanding  that  she  should  be  called  immedi- 
ately if  occasion  arose.  And  that  was  the  first 
night  of  many  that  she  passed  in  undisturbed 
repose. 

In  the  early  morning,  entering,  she  found  Peter 
in  sole  possession  and  very  triumphant.  They  had 
divided  the  night,  he  said,  and  Hanani  had  gone  to 
rest  in  her  turn.  All  had  gone  well.  He  had  slept 
on  the  threshold  and  knew.  And  now  his  mem- 
sahib  would  sleep  through  every  night  and  have 
no  fear. 

She  smiled  at  his  solicitude  though  it  touched 
her  almost  to  tears,  and  gathered  in  silence  to  her 
breast  the  little  frail  body  that  every  day  now 
seemed  to  feel  lighter  and  smaller.  It  would  not 
be  for  very  long — their  planning  and  contriving. 
Very  soon  now  she  would  be  free — quite  free — to 
sleep  as  long  as  she  would.  But  her  tired  heart 


The  First  Glimmer  477 

warmed  to  Peter  and  to  that  silent  ayah  whom  he 
had  enlisted  in  her  service.  Through  the  dark 
night  of  her  grief  the  love  of  her  friends  shone 
with  a  radiance  that  penetrated  even  the  deepest 
shadows.  Was  this  the  lamp  in  the  desert  of  which 
Bernard  had  spoken  so  confidently — the  Lamp 
that  God  had  lighted  to  guide  her  halting  feet? 
Was  it  by  this  that  she  would  come  at  last  into  the 
Presence  of  God  Himself,  and  realize  that  the 
wanderers  in  the  wilderness  are  ever  His  especial 
care? 

Certainly,  as  Peter  had  intimated,  she  knew  her 
baby  to  be  safe  in  their  joint  charge.  As  the 
days  slipped  by,  it  seemed  to  her  that  Peter  had 
imbued  the  ayah  with  something  of  his  own 
devotion,  for,  though  it  was  proffered  almost 
silently,  she  was  aware  of  it  at  every  turn.  At  any 
other  time  her  sympathy  for  the  woman  would 
have  fired  her  interest  and  led  her  to  attempt  to 
draw  her  confidence.  But  the  slender  thread  of 
life  they  guarded,  though  it  bound  them  with  a  tie 
that  was  almost  friendship,  seemed  so  to  fill  their 
minds  that  they  never  spoke  of  anything  else. 
Stella  knew  that  Hanani  loved  her  and  considered 
her  in  every  way,  but  she  gave  Peter  most  of  the 
credit  for  it,  Peter  and  the  little  dying  baby  she 
rocked  so  constantly  against  her  heart.  She  knew 
that  many  an  ayah  would  lay  down  her  life  for  her 
charge.  Peter  had  chosen  well. 

Later — when  this  time  of  waiting  and  watching 
was  over,  when  she  was  left  childless  and  alone — 


478       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

she  would  try  to  find  out  something  of  the  woman's 
history,  help  her  if  she  could,  reward  her  certainly. 
It  was  evident  that  she  was  growing  old.  She 
had  the  stoop  and  the  deliberation  of  age.  Pro- 
bably, she  would  not  have  obtained  an  ayah's 
post  under  any  other  circumstances.  But,  not- 
withstanding these  drawbacks,  she  had  a  wonderful 
endurance,  and  she  was  never  startled  or  at  a  loss. 
Stella  often  told  herself  that  she  would  not  have 
exchanged  her  for  another  woman — even  a  white 
woman — out  of  the  whole  of  India  had  the  chance 
offered.  Hanani,  grave,  silent,  capable,  met  every 
need. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  FIRST  VICTIM 

AN  ominous  calm  prevailed  at  Khanmulla  during 
the  week  that  followed  the  conviction  of  Ermsted's 
murderer  and  the  disappearance  of  the  Rajah.  All 
Markestan  seemed  to  be  waiting  with  bated  breath. 
But,  save  for  the  departure  of  the  women  from 
Kurrumpore,  no  sign  was  given  by  the  Govern- 
ment of  any  expectation  of  a  disturbance.  The 
law  was  to  take  its  course,  and  no  official  note  had 
been  made  of  the  absence  of  the  Rajah.  He  had 
always  been  sudden  in  his  movements. 

Everything  went  as  usual  at  Kurrumpore,  and 
no  one's  nerves  seemed  to  feel  any  strain.  Even 
Tommy  betrayed  no  hint  of  irritation.  A  new 
manliness  had  come  upon  Tommy  of  late.  He 
was  keeping  himself  in  hand  with  a  steadiness 
which  even  Bertie  Oakes  could  not  ruffle  and 
which  Major  Ralston  openly  approved.  He  had 
always  known  that  Tommy  had  the  stuff  for 
great  things  in  him. 

A  species  of  bickering  friendship  had  sprung  up 
between  them,  founded  upon  their  tacit  belief 
in  the  honour  of  a  man  who  had  failed.  They 

479 


480       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

seldom  mentioned  his  name,  but  the  bond  of  sym- 
pathy remained,  oddly  tenacious  and  unassailable. 
Tommy  strongly  suspected,  moreover,  that  Ral- 
ston knew  Everard's  whereabouts,  and  of  this  even 
Bernard  was  ignorant  at  that  time.  Ralston 
never  boasted  his  knowledge,  but  the  conviction 
had  somehow  taken  hold  of  Tommy,  and  for  this 
reason  also  he  sought  the  surgeon's  company  as  he 
had  certainly  never  sought  it  before. 

Ralston  on  his  part  was  kind  to  the  boy  partly 
because  he  liked  him  and  admired  his  staunchness, 
and  partly  because  his  wife's  unwilling  departure 
had  left  him  lonely.  He  and  Major  Burton  for 
some  reason  were  not  so  friendly  as  of  yore,  and 
they  no  longer  spent  their  evenings  in  strict  seclu- 
sion with  the  chess-board.  He  took  to  walking 
back  from  the  Mess  with  Tommy,  and  encouraged 
the  latter  to  drop  in  at  his  bungalow  for  a  smoke 
whenever  he  felt  inclined.  It  was  but  a  short 
distance  from  The  Green  Bungalow,  and,  as  he 
was  wont  to  remark,  it  was  one  degree  more  cheer- 
ful for  which  consideration  Tommy  was  pro- 
foundly grateful.  Notwithstanding  Bernard's  kind 
and  wholesome  presence,  there  were  times  when  the 
atmosphere  of  The  Green  Bungalow  was  almost 
more  than  he  could  bear.  He  was  powerless  to 
help,  and  the  long  drawn-out  misery  weighed  upon 
him  unendurably.  He  infinitely  preferred  smok- 
ing a  silent  pipe  in  Ralston 's  company  or  messing 
about  with  him  in  his  little  surgery  as  he  was 
sometimes  permitted  to  do. 


The  First  Victim  481 

On  the  evening  before  the  day  fixed  for  the 
execution  at  Khanmulla,  they  were  engaged  in 
this  fashion  when  the  khitmutgar  entered  with  the 
news  that  a  sahib  desired  to  speak  to  him. 

"Oh,  bother!"  said  Ralston  crossly.  "Who  is 
it?  Don't  you  know?" 

The  man  hesitated,  and  it  occurred  to  Tommy 
instantly  that  there  was  a  hint  of  mystery  in 
his  manner.  The  sahib  had  ridden  through  the 
jungle  from  Khanmulla,  he  said.  He  gave  no 
name. 

"Confounded  fool!"  said  Ralston.  "No  one 
but  a  born  lunatic  would  do  a  thing  like  that.  Go 
and  see  what  he  wants  like  a  good  chap,  Tommy ! 
I'm  busy." 

Tommy  rose  with  alacrity.  His  curiosity  was 
aroused.  "Perhaps  it's  Monck, "  he  said. 

"More  likely  Barnes,"  said  Ralston.  "Only  I 
shouldn't  have  thought  he'd  be  such  a  fool.  Keep 
your  eyes  skinned!"  he  added,  as  Tommy  went  to 
the  door.  "Don't  get  shot  or  stuck  by  anybody.' 
If  I'm  really  wanted,  I'll  come." 

Tommy  grinned  at  the  caution  and  departed. 
He  had  ceased  to  anticipate  any  serious  trouble  in 
the  State,  and  nothing  really  exciting  ever  came  his 
way. 

He  went  through  the  bungalow  to  the  dining- 
room  still  half  expecting  to  find  his  brother-in-law 
awaiting  him.  But  the  moment  he  entered,  he  had 
a  shock.  A  man  in  a  rough  tweed  coat  was  sitting 
at  the  table  in  an  odd,  hunched  attitude,  almost 


482       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

as  if  he  had  fallen  into  the  chair  that  supported 
him. 

He  turned  his  head  a  little  at  Tommy's  entrance, 
but  not  so  that  the  light  revealed  his  face.  "Hullo !" 
he  said.  ' '  That  you,  Ralston  ?  I ' ve  got  a  bullet 
in  my  left  shoulder.  Do  you  mind  getting  it 
out?" 

Tommy  stopped  dead.  He  felt  as  if  his  heart 
stopped  also.  He  knew — surely  he  knew — that 
voice!  But  it  was  not  that  of  Everard  or  Barnes, 
or  of  any  one  he  had  ever  expected  to  meet  again  on 
earth. 

"What — what — "  he  gasped  feebly,  and  went 
backwards  against  the  door-post.  ' '  Am  I  drunk  ? ' ' 
he  questioned  with  himself. 

The  man  in  the  chair  turned  more  fully.  ' '  Why t 
it's  Tommy!"  he  said. 

The  light  smote  full  upon  him  now  throwing 
up  every  detail  of  a  countenance  which,  though 
handsome,  had  begun  to  show  unmistakable  signs 
of  coarse  and  intemperate  habits.  He  laughed  as 
he  met  the  boy's  shocked  eyes,  but  the  laugh  caught 
in  his  throat  and  turned  to  a  strangled  oath. 
Then  he  began  to  cough. 

"Oh —  my  God!"  said  Tommy. 

He  turned  then,  horror  urging  him,  and  tore 
back  to  Ralston,  as  one  pursued  by  devils.  He 
burst  in  upon  him  headlong. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  come!    That  fellow — it's 

"Who?"  said  Ralston  sharply. 


The  First  Victim  483 

"I  don't  know!"  panted  back  Tommy.  "I'm 
mad,  I  think.  But  come — for  goodness'  sake — 
before  he  bleeds  to  death !" 

Ralston  came  with  a  velocity  which  exceeded 
even  Tommy's  wild  rush.  Tommy  marvelled  at  it 
later.  He  had  not  thought  the  phlegmatic  and 
slow-moving  Ralston  had  it  in  him.  He  himself 
was  left  well  behind,  and  when  he  re-entered  the 
dining-room  Ralston  was  already  bending  over  the 
huddled  figure  that  sprawled  across  the  table. 

"Come  and  lend  a  hand!"  he  ordered.  "We 
must  get  him  on  the  floor.  Poor  devil !  He's  got 
it  pretty  straight. " 

He  had  not  seen  the  stricken  man's  face.  He 
was  too  concerned  with  the  wound  to  worry  about 
any  minor  details  for  the  moment. 

Tommy  helped  him  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  but 
he  was  trembling  so  much  that  in  a  second  Ralston 
swooped  scathingly  upon  his  weakness. 

"Steady  man!  Pull  yourself  together!  What 
on  earth's  the  matter?  Never  seen  a  little  blood 
before ?  If  you  faint,  I'll— I'll  kick  you !  There ! " 

Tommy  pulled  himself  together  forthwith.  He 
had  never  before  submitted  to  being  bullied  by 
Ralston;  but  he  submitted  then,  for  speech  was 
beyond  him.  They  lowered  the  big  frame  between 
them,  and  at  Ralston's  command  he  supported 
it  while  the  doctor  made  a  swift  examination  of  the 
injury. 

Then,  while  this  was  in  progress,  the  wounded 
man  recovered  his  senses  and  forced  a  few  husky 


484       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

words.  "Hullo, — Ralston!  Have  they  done  me 
in?" 

Ralston's  eyes  went  to  his  face  for  the  first  time, 
shot  a  momentary  glance  at  Tommy,  and  returned 
to  the  matter  in  hand. 

"Don't  talk!"  he  said. 

A  few  seconds  later  he  got  to  his  feet.  "Keep 
him  just  as  he  is !  I  must  go  and  fetch  something. 
Don't  let  him  speak!" 

He  was  gone  with  the  words,  and  Tommy,  still 
feeling  bewildered  and  rather  sick,  knelt  in  silence 
and  waited  for  his  return. 

But  almost  immediately  the  husky  voice  spoke 
again.  "Tommy — that  you?" 

Tommy  felt  himself  begin  to  tremble  again  and 
put  forth  all  his  strength  to  keep  himself  in  hand. 
' '  Don't  talk ! "  he  said  gruffly. 

"I've — got  to  talk."  The  words  came,  forced 
by  angry  obstinacy.  ' '  It's  no — damnation — good. 
I'm  done  for — beaten  on  the  straight.  And  that 
hell  hound  Monck — 

"Damn  you!  Be  quiet!"  said  Tommy  in  a 
furious  undertone. 

"I  won't  be  quiet,  I'll  have — my  turn — such 
as  it  is.  Where's  Stella?  Fetch  Stella!  I've  a 
right  to  that  anyway.  She  is — my  lawful  wife ! ' ' 

' '  I  can't  fetch  her, "  said  Tommy. 

"All  right  then.  You  can  tell  her — from  me — 
that  she's  been  duped — as  I  was.  She's  mine — 
not  his.  He  came — with  that  cock-and-bull  story 
about — the  other  woman.  But  she  was  dead — 


The  First  Victim  485 

I've  found  out  since.  She  was  dead — and  he  knew 
it.  He  faked  up  the  tale — to  suit  himself.  He 
wanted  her — the  damn  skunk — wanted  her — and 
cheated — cheated — to  get  her.  " 

He  stopped,  checked  by  a  terrible  gurgle  in 
the  throat.  Tommy,  white  with  passion,  broke 
fiercely  into  his  gasping  silence. 

"It's  a  damned  lie!  Monck  is  a  white  man!  He 
never  did — a  thing  like  that!" 

And  then  he  too  stopped  in  sheer  horror  at  the 
devilish  hatred  that  gleamed  in  the  rolling,  blood- 
shot eyes. 

A  few  dreadful  seconds  passed.  Then  Ralph 
Dacre  gathered  his  ebbing  life  in  one  last  great 
effort  of  speech.  "She  is  my  wife.  I  hold  the 
proof.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  this — I'd  have  taken 
her  from  him — to-night.  He  ruined  me — and  he 
robbed  me.  But  I — I'll  ruin  him  now.  It's  my 
turn.  He  is  not — her  husband,  and  she — she'll 
scorn  him  after  this — if  I  know  her.  Consoled 
herself  precious  soon.  Yes,  women  are  like  that. 
But  they  don't  forgive  so  easily.  And  she — is  not 
— the  forgiving  sort — anyway.  She'll  never  for- 
give him  for  tricking  her — the  hound!  She'll 
never  forget  that  the  child — her  child — is  a  bas- 
tard. And — the  Regiment — won't  forget  either. 
He's  down — and  out.  " 

He  ceased  to  speak.  Tommy's  hands  were 
clenched.  If  the  man  had  been  on  his  feet,  he 
would  have  struck  him  on  the  mouth.  As  it  was, 
he  could  only  kneel  in  impotence  and  listen  to 


486       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

the  amazing  utterance  that  fell  from  the  gasping 
lips. 

He  felt  stunned  into  passivity.  His  anger  had 
strangely  sunk  away,  though  he  regarded  the  man 
he  supported  with  such  an  intensity  of  loathing 
that  he  marvelled  at  himself  for  continuing  to 
endure  the  contact.  The  astounding  revelation 
had  struck  him  like  a  blow  between  the  eyes.  He 
felt  numb,  almost  incapable  of  thought. 

He  heard  Ralston  returning  and  wondered  what 
he  could  have  been  doing  in  that  interminable 
interval.  Then,  reluctant  but  horribly  fascinated, 
his  look  went  back  to  the  upturned,  dreadful  face. 
The  malignancy  had  gone  out  of  it.  The  eyes 
rolled  no  longer,  but  gazed  with  a  great  fixity  at 
something  that  seemed  to  be  infinitely  far  away. 
As  Tommy  looked,  a  terrible  rattling  breath 
went  through  the  heavy,  inert  form.  It  seemed 
to  rend  body  and  soul  asunder.  There  fol- 
lowed a  brief  palpitating  shudder,  and  the  head 
on  his  arm  sank  sideways.  A  great  stillness 
fell.  .  .  . 

Ralston  knelt  and  freed  him  from  his  burden. 
"Get  up!"  he  said. 

Tommy  obeyed  though  he  felt  more  like  col- 
lapsing. He  leaned  upon  the  table  and  stared 
while  Ralston  laid  the  big  frame  flat  and  straight 
upon  the  floor. 

" Is  he  dead? "  he  asked  in  a  whisper,  as  Ralston 
stood  up. 

"Yes,"  said  Ralston. 


The  First  Victim  487 

"It  wasn't  my  fault,  was  it?"  said  Tommy 
uneasily.  "I  couldn't  stop  him  talking.  " 

' ' He'd  have  died  anyhow, ' '  said  Ralston.  "It's 
a  wonder  he  ever  got  here  if  he  was  shot  in  the 
jungle  as  he  must  have  been.  That  means — proba- 
bly— that  the  brutes  have  started  their  games 
to-night.  Odd  if  he  should  be  the  first  victim!" 

Tommy  shuddered  uncontrollably. 

Ralston  gripped  his  arm.  ' '  Don't  be  a  fool  now ! 
Death  is  nothing  extraordinary,  after  all.  It's  an 
experience  we've  all  got  to  go  through  some  time  or 
other.  It  doesn't  scare  me.  It  won't  you  when 
you're  a  bit  older.  As  for  this  fellow,  it's  about  the 
best  thing  that  could  happen  for  everyone  con- 
cerned. Just  rememer  that!  Providence  works 
pretty  near  the  surface  at  times,  and  this  is  one  of 
'em.  You  won't  believe  me,  I  daresay,  but  I  never 
really  felt  that  Ralph  Dacre  was  dead — until  this 
moment. " 

He  led  Tommy  from  the  room  with  the  words. 
It  was  not  his  custom  to  express  himself  so  freely, 
but  he  wanted  to  get  that  horror-stricken  look  out 
of  the  boy's  eyes.  He  talked  to  give  him  time. 

' '  And  now  look  here ! "  he  said.  ' '  You've  got  to 
keep  your  head — for  you'll  want  it.  I'll  give  you 
something  to  steady  you,  and  after  that  you'll  be 
on  your  own.  You  must  cut  back  to  The  Green 
Bungalow  and  find  Bernard  Monck  and  tell  him 
just  what  has  happened — no  one  else  mind,  until 
you've  seen  him.  He's  discreet  enough.  I'm 
going  round  to  the  Colonel.  For  if  what  I  think 


488       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

has  happened,  those  devils  are  ahead  of  us  by 
twenty-four  hours,  and  we're  not  ready  for  'em. 
They've  probably  cut  the  wires  too.  When  you've 
done  that,  youreportdown  at  thebarracks !  Yoursis- 
ter  will  probably  have  to  be  taken  there  for  safety. 
And  there  may  be  some  tough  work  before  morning. ' ' 

These  last  words  of  his  had  a  magical  effect  upon 
Tommy.  His  eyes  suddenly  shone.  Ralston  had 
accomplished  his  purpose.  Nevertheless,  he  took 
him  back  to  the  surgery  and  made  him  swallow 
some  sal  volatile  in  spite  of  protest. 

"And  now  you  won't  be  a  fool,  will  you? "he 
said  at  parting.  ' '  I  should  be  sorry  if  you  got  shot 
to  no  purpose.  Monck  would  be  sorry  too.  " 

' '  Do  you  know  where  he  is  ? "  questioned  Tommy 
point-blank. 

"Yes.  "  Blunt  and  uncompromising  came  Ral- 
ston's  reply.  "But  I'm  not  going  to  tell  you,  so 
don't  you  worry  yourself !  You  stick  to  business, 
Tommy,  and  for  heaven's  sake  don't  go  round  and 
make  a  mush  of  it!" 

"Stick  to  business  yourself!"  said  Tommy 
rudely,  suddenly  awaking  to  the  fact  that  he  was 
being  dictated  to;  then  pulled  up,  faintly  grinning. 
"Sorry:  I  didn't  mean  that.  You're  a  brick. 
Consider  it  unsaid !  Good-bye ! ' ' 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  Ralston  who  took  it  and 
thumped  him  on  the  back  by  way  of  acknowledg- 
ment. 

"You're  growing  up,"  he  remarked  with  ap- 
proval, as  Tommy  went  his  way. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  FIERY  VORTEX 

"THERE  is  nothing  more  to  be  done, "  said  Peter 
with  mournful  eyes  upon  the  baby  in  the  ayah's 
arms.  "Will  not  my  mem-sahib  take  her  rest? " 

Stella's  eyes  also  rested  upon  the  tiny  wizen 
face.  She  knew  that  Peter  spoke  truly.  There 
was  nothing  more  to  be  done.  She  might  send 
yet  again  for  Major  Ralston.  But  of  what  avail? 
He  had  told  her  that  he  could  do  no  more.  The 
little  life  was  slipping  swiftly,  swiftly,  out  of  her 
reach.  Very  soon  only  the  desert  emptiness  would 
be  left. 

"The  mem-sahib  may  trust  her  baba  to  Han- 
ani, "  murmured  the  ayah  behind  the  enveloping 
veil.  "Hanani  loves  the  baba  too. " 

"Oh,  I  know,"  Stella  said. 

Yet  she  hung  over  the  ayah's  shoulder,  for  to- 
night of  all  nights  she  somehow  felt  that  she  could 
not  tear  herself  away. 

There  had  been  a  change  during  the  day — a 
change  so  gradual  as  to  be  almost  imperceptible 
save  to  her  yearning  eyes.  She  was  certain  that 
the  baby  was  weaker.  He  had  cried  less,  had,  she 

4*9 


49°        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

believed,  suffered  less ;  and  now  he  lay  quite  passive 
in  the  ayah's  arms.  Only  by  the  feeble,  fluttering 
breath  that  came  and  went  so  fitfully  could  she 
have  told  that  the  tiny  spark  yet  lingered  in  the 
poor  little  wasted  frame. 

Major  Ralston  had  told  her  earlier  in  the  even- 
ing that  he  might  go  on  in  this  state  for  days,  but 
she  did  not  think  it  probable.  She  was  sure  that 
every  hour  now  brought  an  infinitesimal  difference. 
She  felt  that  the  end  was  drawing  near. 

And  so  a  great  reluctance  to  go  possessed  her, 
even  though  she  would  be  within  call  all  night. 
She  had  a  hungry  longing  to  stay  and  watch  the 
little  unconscious  face  which  would  soon  be  gone 
from  her  sight.  She  wanted  to  hold  each  minute 
of  the  few  hours  left. 

Very  softly  Peter  came  to  her  side.  "My  mem- 
sahib  will  rest  ? "  he  said  wistfully. 

She  looked  at  him.  His  faithful  eyes  besought 
her  like  the  eyes  of  a  dog.  Their  dumb  adoration 
somehow  made  her  want  to  cry. 

"If  I  could  only  stay  to-night,  Peter!"  she  said. 

"Mem-sahib,"  he  urged  very  pleadingly,  "the 
baba  sleeps  now.  It  may  be  he  will  want  you  to- 
morrow. And  if  my  mem-sahib  has  not  slept  she 
will  be  too  weary  then. " 

Again  she  knew  that  he  spoke  the  truth.  There 
had  been  times  of  late  when  she  had  been  made 
aware  of  the  fact  that  her  strength  was  nearing  its 
limit.  She  knew  it  would  be  sheer  madness  to 
neglect  the  warning  lest,  as  Peter  suggested,  her 


The  Fiery  Vortex  49* 

baby's  need  of  her  outlasted  her  endurance.  She 
must  husband  all  the  strength  she  had. 

With  a  sigh  she  bent  and  touched  the  tiny  fore- 
head with  her  lips.  Hanani's  hand,  long  and  bony, 
gently  stroked  her  arm  as  she  did  so. 

"Old  Hanani  knows,  mem-sahib, "  she  whispered 
under  her  breath. 

The  tears  she  had  barely  checked  a  moment 
before  sprang  to  Stella's  eyes.  She  held  the  dark 
hand  in  silence  and  was  subtly  comforted  thereby. 

Passing  through  the  door  that  Peter  held  open 
for  her,  she  gave  him  her  hand  also.  He  bent 
very  low  over  it,  just  as  he  had  bent  on  that  first 
wedding-day  of  hers  so  long — so  long — ago,  and 
touched  it  with  his  forehead.  The  memory  flashed 
back  upon  her  oddly.  She  heard  again  Ralph 
Dacre's  voice  speaking  in  her  ear.  "You,  Stella, 
— you  are  as  ageless  as  the  stars ! "  The  pride  and 
the  passion  of  his  tones  stabbed  through  her  with  a 
curious  poignancy.  Strange  that  the  thought  of 
him  should  come  to  her  with  such  vividness  to- 
night !  She  passed  on  to  her  room,  as  one  moving 
in  a  painful  trance. 

For  a  space  she  lingered  there,  hardly  knowing 
what  she  did;  then  she  remembered  that  she  had 
not  bidden  Bernard  good-night,  and  mechanically 
her  steps  turned  in  his  direction. 

He  was  generally  smoking  and  working  on  the 
verandah  at^that  hour.  She  made  her  way  to  the 
dining-room  as  being  the  nearest  approach. 

But  half-way  across   the  room   the   sound  of 


492       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Tommy's  voice,  sharp  and  agitated,  came  to  her 
Involuntarily  she  paused.  He  was  with  Bernard 
on  the  verandah. 

"The  devils  shot  him  in  the  jungle,  but  he  came 
on,  got  as  far  as  Ralston's  bungalow,  and  collapsed 
there.  He  was  dead  in  a  few  minutes — before 
anything  could  be  done." 

The  words  pierced  through  her  trance,  like  a 
naked  sword  flashing  with  incredible  swiftness, 
cutting  asunder  every  bond,  every  fibre,  that  held 
her  soul  confined.  She  sprang  for  the  open  win- 
dow with  a  great  and  terrible  cry. 

"Who  is  dead?     Who?    Who?" 

The  red  glare  of  the  lamp  met  her,  dazzled  her, 
seemed  to  enter  her  brain  and  cruelly  to  burn  her ; 
but  she  did  not  heed  it.  She  stood  with  arms  flung 
wide  in  frantic  supplication. 

"Everard!"  she  cried.  "Oh  God!  My  God! 
Not — Everard!" 

Her  wild  words  pierced  the  night,  and  all  the 
voices  of  India  seemed  to  answer  her  in  a  mad  dis- 
cordant jangle  of  unintelligible  sound.  An  owl 
hooted,  a  jackal  yelped,  and  a  chorus  of  savage, 
yelling  laughter  broke  hideously  across  the  clamour, 
swallowing  it  as  a  greater  wave  swallows  a  lesser, 
overwhelming  all  that  has  gone  before. 

The  red  glare  of  the  lamp  vanished  from  Stella's 
brain,  leaving  an  awful  blankness,  a  sense  as  of 
something  burnt  out,  a  taste  of  ashes  in  the  mouth. 
But  yet  the  darkness  was  full  of  horrors;  unseen 
monsters  leaped  past  her  as  in  a  surging  torrent, 


The  Fiery  Vortex  493 

devils'  hands  clawed  at  her,  devils'  mouths  cried 
unspeakable  things. 

She  stood  as  it  were  on  the  edge  of  the  vortex, 
untouched,  unafraid,  beyond  it  all  since  that  awful 
devouring  flame  had  flared  and  gone  out.  She 
even  wondered  if  it  had  killed  her,  so  terribly  aloof 
was  she,  so  totally  distinct  from  the  pandemonium 
that  raged  around  her.  It  had  the  vividness 
and  the  curious  lack  of  all  physical  feeling  of  a 
nightmare.  And  yet  through  all  her  numbness 
she  knew  that  she  was  waiting  for  someone — some- 
one who  was  dead  like  herself. 

She  had  not  seen  either  Bernard  or  Tommy  in 
that  blinding  moment  on  the  verandah.  Doubt- 
less they  were  fighting  in  that  raging  blackness 
in  front  of  her.  She  fancied  once  that  she  heard 
her  brother's  voice  laughing  as  she  had  sometimes 
heard  him  laugh  on  the  polo-ground  when  he  had 
executed  a  difficult  stroke.  Immediately  before 
her,  a  Titanic  struggle  was  going  on.  She  could 
not  see  it,  for  the  light  in  the  room  behind  had 
been  extinguished  also,  but  the  dreadful  sound  of 
it  made  her  think  for  a  fleeting  second  of  a  great 
bull-stag  being  pulled  down  by  a  score  of  leaping, 
wide-jawed  hounds. 

And  then  very  suddenly  she  herself  was  caught 
— caught  from  behind,  dragged  backwards  off  her 
feet.  She  cried  out  in  a  wild  horror,  but  in  a 
second  she  was  silenced.  Some  thick  material  that 
had  a  heavy  native  scent  about  it — such  a  scent 
as  she  remembered  vaguely  to  hang  about  Hanani 


494       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

the  ayah — was  thrust  over  her  face  and  head 
muffling  all  outcry.  Muscular  arms  gripped  her 
with  a  fierce  and  ruthless  mastery,  and  as  they 
lifted  and  bore  her  away  the  nightmare  was  blotted 
from  her  brain  as  if  it  had  never  been.  She  sank 
into  oblivion.  . 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  DESERT  OF  ASHES 

WAS  it  night?  Was  it  morning?  She  could 
not  tell.  She  opened  her  eyes  to  a  weird  and 
incomprehensible  twilight,  to  the  gurgling  sound 
of  water,  the  booming  croak  of  a  frog. 

At  first  she  thought  that  she  was  dreaming,  that 
presently  these  vague  impressions  would  fade 
from  her  consciousness,  and  she  would  awake  to 
normal  things,  to  the  sunlight  beating  across  the 
verandah,  to  the  cheery  call  of  Everard's  saice  in 
the  compound,  and  the  tramp  of  impatient  hoofs. 
And  Everard  himself  would  rise  up  from  her  side, 
and  stoop  and  kiss  her  before  he  went. 

She  began  to  wait  for  his  kiss,  first  in  genuine 
expectation,  later  with  a  semi-conscious  tricking  of 
the  imagination.  Never  once  had  he  left  her 
without  that  kiss. 

But  she  waited  in  vain,  and  as  she  waited  the 
current  of  her  thoughts  grew  gradually  clearer. 
She  began  to  remember  the  happenings  of  the  night. 
It  dawned  upon  her  slowly  and  terribly  that  Ever- 
ard was  dead. 

When  that  memory  came   to   her,   her  brain 

495 


496       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

seemed  to  stand  still.  There  was  no  passing  on 
from  that.  Everard  had  been  shot  in  the  jungle — 
just  as  she  had  always  known  he  would  be.  He 
had  ridden  on  in  spite  of  it.  She  pictured  his  grim 
endurance  with  shrinking  vividness.  He  had 
ridden  on  to  Major  Ralston 's  bungalow  and  had 
collapsed  there, — collapsed  and  died  before  they 
could  help  him.  Clearly  before  her  inner  vision 
rose  the  scene, — Everard  sinking  down,  broken 
and  inert,  all  the  indomitable  strength  of  him 
shattered  at  last,  the  steady  courage  quenched. 

Yet  what  was  it  he  had  once  said  to  her?  It 
rushed  across  her  now — words  he  had  uttered  long 
ago  on  the  night  he  had  taken  her  to  the  ruined 
temple  at  Khanmulla.  ' '  My  love  is  not  the  kind 
that  burns  and  goes  out."  She  remembered  the 
exact  words,  the  quiver  in  the  voice  that  had 
uttered  them.  Then,  that  being  so,  he  was  loving 
her  still.  Across  the  desert — her  bitter  desert  of 
ashes — the  lamp  was  shining  even  now.  Love  like 
his  was  immortal.  Love  such  as  that  could  never 
die. 

That  comforted  her  for  a  space,  but  soon  the 
sense  of  desolation  returned.  She  remembered 
their  cruel  estrangement.  She  remembered  their 
child.  And  that  last  thought,  entering  like  an 
electric  force,  gave  her  strength.  Surely  it  was 
morning,  and  he  would  be  needing  her !  Had  not 
Peter  said  he  would  want  her  in  the  morning? 

With  a  sharp  effort  she  raised  herself;  she  must 
go  to  him. 


The  Desert  of  Ashes          497 

The  next  moment  a  sharp  breath  of  amazement 
escaped  her.  Where  was  she?  The  strange  twi- 
light stretched  up  above  her  into  infinite  shadow. 
Before  her  was  a  broken  arch  vv  ay  through  which 
vaguely  she  saw  the  heavy  foliage  of  trees.  Behind 
her  she  yet  heard  the  splash  and  gurgle  of  water, 
the  croaking  of  frogs.  And  near  at  hand  some  tiny 
creature  scratched  and  scuffled  among  loose 
stones. 

She  sat  staring  about  her,  doubting  the  evidence 
of  her  senses,  marvelling  if  it  could  all  be  a  dream. 
For  she  recognized  the  place.  It  was  the  ruined 
temple  of  Khanmulla  in  which  she  sat.  There 
were  the  crumbling  steps  on  which  she  had  stood 
with  Everard  on  the  night  that  he  had  mercilessly 
claimed  her  love,  had  taken  her  in  his  arms  and 
said  that  it  was  Kismet. 

It  was  then  that  like  a  dagger-thrust  the  real- 
ization of  his  loss  went  through  her.  It  was  then 
that  she  first  tasted  the  hopeless  anguish  of  loneli- 
ness that  awaited  her,  saw  the  long,  long  desert 
track  stretching  out  before  her,  leading  she  knew 
not  whither.  She  bowed  her  head  upon  her  arms 
and  sat  crushed,  unconscious  of  all  beside.  .  .  . 

It  must  have  been  some  time  later  that  there 
fell  a  soft  step  beside  her ;  a  veiled  figure,  bent  and 
slow  of  movement,  stooped  over  her. 

11  Mem-sahib!"  a  low  voice  said. 

She  looked  up,  startled  and  wondering.  "Han- 
am!"  she  said. 

"Yes,    it   is    Hanani."     The    woman's   husky 


498       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

whisper  came  reassuringly  in  answer.  "Have 
no  fear,  mem-sahib!  You  are  safe  here." 

"What — happened?"  questioned  Stella,  still 
half -doubting  the  evidence  of  her  senses.  "Where 
— where  is  my  baby?" 

Hanani  knelt  down  by  her  side.  "Mem-sahib, " 
she  said  very  gently,  "the  baba  sleeps — in  the 
keeping  of  God." 

It  was  tenderly  spoken,  so  tenderly  that — it 
came  to  her  afterwards — she  received  the  news 
with  no  sense  of  shock.  She  even  felt  as  if  she 
must  have  somehow  known  it  before.  In  the  utter 
greyness  of  her  desert — she  had  walked  alone. 

"He  is  dead?"  she  said. 

"Not  dead,  mem-sahib,"  corrected  the  ayah 
gently.  She  paused  a  moment,  then  in  the  same 
hushed  voice  that  was  scarcely  more  than  a  whis- 
per: "He — passed,  mem-sahib,  in  these  arms,  so 
easily,  so  gently,  I  knew  not  when  the  last  breath 
came.  You  had  been  gone  but  a  little  space.  I 
sent  Peter  to  call  you,  but  your  room  was  empty. 
He  returned,  and  I  went  to  seek  you  myself.  I 
reached  you  only  as  the  storm  broke." 

"  Ah ! "  A  sharp  shudder  caught  Stella.  ' '  What 
— happened?"  she  asked  again. 

"It  was  but  a  band  of  budmashes,  mem-sahib." 
A  note  of  contempt  sounded  in  the  quiet  rejoinder. 
"I  think  they  were  looking  for  Monck  sahib — for 
the  captain  sahib.  But  they  found  him  not. " 

"No,"  Stella  said.  "No.  They  had  killed 
him  already — in  the  jungle.  At  least,  they  had 


The  Desert  of  Ashes          499 

chot  him.  He  died — afterwards."  She  spoke 
dully;  she  felt  as  if  her  heart  had  grown  old  within 
her,  too  old  to  feel  poignantly  any  more.  "Go 
on!"  she  said,  after  a  moment.  "What  happened 
then?  Did  they  kill  Bernard  sahib  and  Denvers 
sahib,  too?" 

"Neither,  my  mem-sahib."  Hanani's  reply 
was  prompt  and  confident.  "Bernard  sahib  was 
struck  on  the  head  and  senseless  when  we  dragged 
him  in.  Denvers  sahib  was  not  touched.  It  was 
he  who  put  out  the  lamp  and  saved  their  lives. 
Afterwards,  I  know  not  how,  he  raised  a  great 
outcry  so  that  they  thought  they  were  surrounded 
and  fled.  Truly,  Denvers  sahib  is  great.  After 
that,  he  went  for  help.  And  I,  mem-sahib,  fearing 
they  might  return  to  visit  their  vengeance  upon 
you — being  the  wife  of  the  captain  sahib  whom 
they  could  not  find — I  wrapped  a  saree  about  your 
head  and  carried  you  away."  Humble  pride  in 
the  achievement  sounded  in  Hanani's  voice.  "I 
knew  that  here  you  would  be  safe,"  she  ended. 
"All  evil-doers  fear  this  place.  It  is  said  to  be  the 
abode  of  unquiet  spirits. " 

Again  Stella  gazed  around  the  place.  Her  eyes 
had  become  accustomed  to  the  green-hued  twilight. 
The  crumbling,  damp-stained  walls  stretched 
away  into  darkness  behind  her,  but  the  place  held 
no  terrors  for  her.  She  was  too  tired  to  be  afraid. 
She  only  wondered,  though  without  much  interest, 
how  Hanani  had  managed  to  accomplish  the 
journey. 


500       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Where  is  Peter?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"Peter  remained  with  Bernard  sahib,'1  Hanani 
answered.  "He  will  tell  them  where  to  seek  for 
you. " 

Again  Stella  gazed  about  the  place.  It  struck 
her  as  strange  that  Peter  should  have  relinquished 
his  guardianship  of  her,  even  in  favour  of  Hanani. 
But  the  thought  did  not  hold  her  for  long.  Evi- 
dently he  had  known  that  he  could  trust  the 
woman  as  he  trusted  himself  and  her  strength  must 
be  almost  superhuman.  She  was  glad  that  he 
had  stayed  behind  with  Bernard. 

She  leaned  her  chin  upon  her  hands  and  sat  silent 
for  a  space.  But  gradually,  as  she  reviewed  the 
situation,  curiosity  began  to  struggle  through  her 
lethargy.  She  looked  at  Hanani  crouched  humbly 
beside  her,  looked  at  her  again  and  again,  and  at 
last  her  wonder  found  vent  in  speech. 

"Hanani,"  she  said,  "I  don't  quite  understand 
everything.  How  did  you  get  me  here?" 

Hanani's  veiled  head  was  bent.  She  turned  it 
towards  her  slowly,  almost  reluctantly  it  seemed  to 
Stella. 

"I  carried  you,  mem-sahib, "  she  said. 

"You— carried— me!"  Stella  repeated  the  word 
incredulously.  "But  it  is  a  long  way — a  very 
long  way — from  Kurrumpore. " 

Hanani  was  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  as 
though  irresolute.  Then:  "I  brought  you  by  a 
way  unknown  to  you,  mem-sahib,"  she  said. 
*'Hafiz — you  know  Hafiz? — he  helped  me." 


The  Desert  of  Ashes          501 

"Hafiz!"  Stella  frowned  a  little.  Yes,  by  sight 
she  knew  him  well.  Hafiz  the  crafty,  was  her 
private  name  for  him. 

"How  did  he  help  you?"  she  asked. 

Again  Hanani  seemed  to  hesitate  as  one  reluct- 
ant to  give  away  a  secret.  "From  the  shop  of 
Hafiz — that  is  the  shop  of  Rustam  Karin  in  the 
bazaar,"  she  said  at  length,  and  Stella  quivered 
at  the  name,  "there  is  a  passage  that  leads  under 
the  ground  into  the  jungle.  To  those  who  know, 
the  way  is  easy.  It  was  thus,  mem-sahib,  that  I 
brought  you  hither. " 

"But  how  did  you  get  me  to  the  bazaar?" 
questioned  Stella,  still  hardly  believing. 

"It  was  very  dark,  mem-sahib;  and  the  bud- 
mashes  were  scattered.  They  would  not  touch  an 
old  woman  such  as  Hanani.  And  you,  my  mem- 
sahib,  were  wrapped  in  a  saree.  With  old  Hanani 
you  were  safe." 

"Ah,  why  should  you  take  all  that  trouble  to 
save  my  life?"  Stella  said,  a  little  quiver  of  pas- 
sion in  her  voice.  ' '  Do  you  think  life  is  so  precious 
to  me — now?" 

Hanani  made  a  protesting  gesture  with  one  arm. 
"Lo,  it  is  yet  night,  mem-sahib, "  she  said.  "But 
is  it  not  written  in  the  sacred  Book  that  with  the 
dawn  comes  joy?" 

"There  can  never  be  any  joy  for  me  again," 
Stella  said. 

Hanani  leaned  slowly  forward.  ' '  Then  will  my 
mem-sahib  have  missed  the  meaning  of  life,"  she 


502       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

said.  "Listen  then — listen  to  old  Hanani — who 
knows!  It  is  true  that  the  baba  cannot  return 
to  the  mem-sahib,  but  would  she  call  him  back  to 
pain?  Have  I  not  read  in  her  eyes  night  after 
night  the  silent  prayer  that  he  might  go  in  peace  ? 
Now  that  the  God  of  gods  has  answered  that  prayer 
— now  that  the  baba  is  in  peace — would  my  mem- 
sahib  have  it  otherwise?  Would  she  call  that 
loved  one  back  ?  Would  she  not  rather  thank  the 
God  of  spirits  for  His  great  mercy — and  so  go  her 
way  rejoicing?" 

Again  the  utterance  was  too  full  of  tenderness 
to  give  her  pain.  It  sank  deep  into  Stella's  heart, 
stilling  for  a  space  the  anguish.  She  looked  at  the 
strange,  draped  figure  beside  her  that  spoke  those 
husky  words  of  comfort  with  a  dawning  sense  of 
reverence.  She  had  a  curious  feeling  as  of  one 
being  guided  through  a  holy  place. 

"You — comfort  me,  Hanani,"  she  said  after  a 
moment.  "I  don't  think  I  am  really  grieving  for 
the  baba  yet.  That  will  come  after.  I  know  that 
— as  you  say — he  is  at  peace,  and  I  would  not  call 
him  back.  But — Hanani — that  is  not  all.  It  is 
not  even  the  half  or  the  beginning  of  my  trouble. 
The  loss  of  my  baba  I  can  bear — I  could  bear — 
bravely.  But  the  loss  of — of — '  Words  failed 
her  unexpectedly.  She  bowed  her  head  again 
upon  her  arms  and  wept  the  bitter  tears  of 
despair. 

Hanani  the  ayah  sat  very  still  by  her  side,  her 
brown,  bony  hands  tightly  gripped  about  her  knees, 


The  Desert  of  Ashes          503 

her  veiled  head  bent  slightly  forward  as  though  she 
watched  for  someone  in  the  dimness  of  the  broken 
archway. 

At  last  very,  very  slowly  she  spoke. 

"Mem-sahib,  even  in  the  desert  the  sun  rises. 
There  is  always  comfort  for  those  who  go  forward 
— even  though  they  mourn. " 

"Not  for  me, "  sobbed  Stella.  "Not  for  those 
— who  part — in  bitterness — and  never — meet 
again ! ' ' 

"Never,  mem-sahib?"  Hanani  yet  gazed 
straight  before  her.  Suddenly  she  made  a  move- 
ment as  if  to  rise,  but  checked  herself  as  one 
reminded  by  exertion  of  physical  infirmity.  ' '  The 
mem-sahib  weeps  for  her  lord,"  she  said.  "How 
shall  Hanani  comfort  her?  Yet  never  is  a  cruel 
word.  May  it  not  be  that  he  will — even  now — 
return?" 

"He  is  dead, "  whispered  Stella. 

"Not  so,  mem-sahib."  Very  gently  Hanani 
corrected  her.  "The  captain  sahib  lives.  " 

"He — lives?"  Stella  started  upright  with  the 
words.  In  the  gloom  her  eyes  shone  with  a  sudden 
feverish  light;  but  it  very  swiftly  died.  "Ah, 
don't  torture  me,  Hanani ! ' '  she  said.  ' '  You  mean 
well,  but — it  doesn't  help.  " 

"Hanani  speaks  the  truth,"  protested  the  old 
ayah,  and  behind  the  enveloping  veil  came  an 
answering  gleam  as  if  she  smiled.  "My  lord  the 
captain  sahib  spoke  with  Hafiz  this  very  night. 
Hafiz  will  tell  the  mem-sahib. " 


504       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

But  Stella  shook  her  head  in  hopeless  unbelief. 
"I  don't  trust  Hafiz, "  she  said  wearily. 

"Yet  Hafiz  would  not  lie  to  old  Hanani, " 
insisted  the  ayah  in  that  soft,  insinuating  whisper 
of  hers. 

Stella  reached  out  a  trembling  hand  and  laid  it 
upon  her  shoulder.  "Listen,  Hanani!"  she  said. 
' '  I  have  never  seen  your  face,  yet  I  know  you  for  a 
friend." 

"Ask  not  to  see  it,  mem-sahib,"  swiftly  inter- 
posed the  ayah,  "lest  you  turn  with  loathing  from 
one  who  loves  you ! ' ' 

Stella  smiled,  a  quivering,  piteous  smile.  "I 
should  never  do  that,  Hanani,"  she  said.  "But 
I  do  not  need  to  see  it.  I  know  you  love  me.  But 
do  not — out  of  your  love  for  me — tell  me  a  lie !  It 
is  false  comfort.  It  cannot  help  me. " 

"But  I  have  not  lied,  mem-sahib."  There  was 
earnest  assurance  in  Hanani's  voice — such  assur- 
ance as  could  not  be  disregarded.  "I  have  told 
you  the  truth.  The  captain  sahib  is  not  dead.  It 
was  a  false  report.  " 

"Hanani!  Are  you — sure?"  Stella's  hand 
gripped  the  ayah's  shoulder  with  convulsive 
strength.  ' '  Then  who — who — was  the  sahib  they 
shot  in  the  jungle — the  sahib  who  died  at  the  bunga- 
low of  Ralston  sahib?  Did — Hafiz — tell  you 
that?" 

"That — "  said  Hanani,  and  paused  as  if  con- 
sidering how  best  to  present  the  information, — 
"that  was  another  sahib.  " 


The  Desert  of  Ashes  505 

"Another  sahib?"  Stella  was  trembling  vio- 
lently. Her  hold  upon  Hanani  was  the  clutch  of 
desperation.  ' '  Who — what  was  his  name  ? ' ' 

She  felt  in  the  momentary  pause  that  followed 
that  the  eyes  behind  the  veil  were  looking  at  her 
strangely,  speculatively.  Then  very  softly  Hanani 
answered  her. 

"His  name,  mem-sahib,  was  Dacre. " 

"Dacre!"  Stella  repeated  the  name  blankl>. 
It  seemed  to  hold  too  great  a  meaning  for  her  to 
grasp. 

"So  Hafiz  told  Hanani, "  said  the  ayah. 

"But — Dacre ! ' '  Stella  hung  upon  the  name  as 
if  it  held  her  by  a  fascination  from  which  she  could 
not  shake  free.  "Is  that — all  you  know?"  she 
said  at  last 

"Not  all,  my  mem-sahib,"  answered  Hanani,  in 
the  soothing  tone  of  one  who  instructs  a  child. 
"Hafiz  knew  the  sahib  in  the  days  before  Hanani 
came  to  Kurrumpore.  Hafiz  told  a  strange  story 
of  the  sahib.  He  had  married  and  had  taken  his 
wife  to  the  mountains  beyond  Srinagar.  And 
there  an  evil  fate  had  overtaken  him,  and  she — the 
mem-sahib — had  returned  alone. " 

Hanani  paused  dramatically. 

"Go  on!"  gasped  Stella  almost  inarticulately. 

Hanani  took  up  her  tale  again  in  a  mysterious 
whisper  that  crept  in  eerie  echoes  about  the  ruined 
place  in  which  they  sat.  "Mem-sahib,  Hafiz 
said  that  there  was  doubtless  a  reason  for  which  he 
feigned  death.  He  said  that  Dacre  sahib  was  a 


5°6       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

bad  man,  and  my  lord  the  captain  sahib  knew  it. 
Wherefore  he  followed  him  to  the  mountains  and 
commanded  him  to  be  gone,  and  thus — he  went." 

"But  who — told — Hafiz?"  questioned  Stella, 
still  struggling  against  unbelief. 

"How  should  Hanani  know?"  murmured  the 
ayah  deprecatingly  "Hafiz  lives  in  the  bazaar. 
He  hears  many  things — some  true — some  false. 
But  that  Dacre  sahib  returned  last  night  and  that 
he  now  is  dead  is  true,  mem-sahib.  And  that  my 
lord  the  captain  sahib  lives  is  also  true.  Hanani 
swears  it  by  her  grey  hairs." 

"Then  where — where  is  the  captain  sahib?" 
whispered  Stella. 

The  ayah  shook  her  head.  "It  is  not  given  to 
Hanani  to  know  all  things, "  she  protested.  "But 
— she  can  find  out.  Does  the  mem-sahib  desire  her 
to  find  out?" 

"Yes,"  Stella  breathed. 

The  fantastic  tale  was  running  like  a  mad 
tarantella  through  her  brain.  Her  thoughts  were 
in  a  whirl.  But  she  clung  to  the  thought  of 
Everard  as  a  shipwrecked  mariner  clings  to  a  rock. 
He  yet  lived;  he  had  not  passed  out  of  her  reach. 
It  might  be  he  was  even  then  at  Khanmulla  a  few 
short  miles  away.  All  her  doubt  of  him,  all  evil 
suspicions,  vanished  in  a  great  and  overwhelming 
longing  for  his  presence.  It  suddenly  came  to  her 
that  she  had  wronged  him,  and  before  that  unques- 
tionable conviction  the  story  of  Ralph  Dacre's  re- 
turn was  dwarfed  to  utter  insignificance.  What 


The  Desert  of  Ashes          507 

was  Ralph  Dacre  to  her?  She  had  travelled  far — 
oh,  very  far — through  the  desert  since  the  days  of 
that  strange  dream  in  the  Himalayas.  Living  or 
dead,  surely  he  had  no  claim  upon  her  now ! 

Impulsively  she  stooped  towards  Hanani. 
' '  Take  me  to  him ! "  she  said.  ' '  Take  me  to  him ! 
I  am  sure  you  know  where  he  is." 

Hanani  drew  back  slightly.  "Mem-sahib,  it 
will  take  time  to  find  him,"  she  remonstra  ed. 
"  Hanani  is  not  a  young  woman.  Moreover — " 
she  stopped  suddenly,  and  turned  her  head. 

"What  is  it?  "said  Stella. 

"I  heard  a  sound,  mem-sahib,"  Hanani  rose 
slowly  to  her  feet.  It  seemed  to  Stella  that  she 
was  more  bent,  more  deliberate  of  movement,  than 
usual.  Doubtless  the  wild  adventure  of  the  night 
had  told  upon  her.  She  watched  her  with  a  tinge 
of  compunction  as  she  made  her  somewhat  difficult 
way  towards  the  archway  at  the  top  of  the  broken 
marble  steps.  A  flying-fox  flapped  eerily  past 
her  as  she  went,  dipping  over  the  bent,  veiled 
head  with  as  little  fear  as  if  she  were  a  recognized 
inhabitant  of  that  wild  place. 

A  sharp  sense  of  unreality  stabbed  Stella.  She 
felt  as  one  coming  out  of  an  all-absorbing  dream. 
Obeying  an  instinctive  impulse,  she  rose  up 
quickly  to  follow.  But  even  as  she  did  so,  two 
things  happened. 

Hanani  passed  like  a  shadow  from  her  sight,  and 
a  voice  she  knew — Tommy's  voice,  somewhat 
high-pitched  and  anxious — called  her  name. 


508       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Swiftly  she  moved  to  meet  him.  "I  am  here, 
Tommy!  I  am  here!" 

And  then  she  tottered,  feeling  her  strength  begin 
to  fail. 

"Oh,  Tommy!"  she  gasped.     "Help  me!" 

He  sprang  up  the  steps  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms.  "You  hang  on  to  me!"  he  said.  "I've 
got  you." 

She  leaned  upon  him  quivering,  with  closed 
eyes.  "I  am  afraid  I  must,"  she  said  weakly. 
"Forgive  me  for  being  so  stupid!" 

4 '  All  right,  darling.  All  right, ' '  he  said.  ' '  You're 
not  hurt?" 

"No,  oh  no!  Only  giddy — stupid!"  She 
fought  desperately  for  self-command.  ' '  I  shall  be 
all  right  in  a  minute. " 

She  heard  the  voices  of  men  below  her,  but  she 
could  not  open  her  eyes  to  look.  Tommy  sup- 
ported her  strongly,  and  in  a  few  seconds  she  was 
aware  of  someone  on  her  other  side,  of  a  steady 
capable  hand  grasping  her  wrist. 

"Drink  this!"  said  Ralston's  voice.  "It'll 
help  you." 

He  was  holding  something  to  her  lips,  and  she 
drank  mechanically. 

"That's  better,"  he  said.  "You've  had  a 
rough  time,  I'm  afraid,  but  it's  over  now.  Think 
you  can  walk,  or  shall  we  carry  you?" 

The  matter-of-fact  tones  seemed  to  calm  the 
chaos  of  her  brain.  She  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
faint,  brave  smile. 


The  Desert  of  Ashes          509 

"I  will  walk, — of  course.  There  is  nothing  the 
matter  with  me.  What  has  happened  at  Kumim- 
pore?  Is  all  well?" 

He  met  her  eyes.     ' '  Yes, ' '  he  said  quietly. 

Her  look  flinched  momentarily  from  his,  but  the 
next  instant  she  met  it  squarely.  ' '  I  know  about 
— my  baby, "  she  said. 

He  bent  his  head.  "You  could  not  wish  it 
otherwise, "  he  said,  gently. 

She  answered  him  with  firmness,  "No. " 

The  few  words  helped  to  restore  her  self-posses- 
sion. With  her  hand  upon  Tommy's  arm  she  de- 
scended the  steps  into  the  green  gloom  of  the  jungle. 
The  morning  sun  was  smiting  through  the  leaves. 
It  gleamed  in  her  eyes  like  the  flashing  of  a  sword. 
But — though  the  simile  held  her  mind  for  a  space 
— she  felt  no  shrinking.  She  had  a  curious  con- 
viction that  the  path  lay  open  before  her  at  last. 
The  Angel  with  the  Flaming  Sword  no  longer 
barred  the  way. 

A  party  of  Indian  soldiers  awaited  her.  She  did 
not  see  how  many.  Perhaps  she  was  too  tired  to 
take  any  very  vivid  interest  in  her  surroundings. 
A  native  litter  stood  a  few  yards  from  the  foot  of  the 
steps.  Tommy  guided  her  to  it,  Major  Ralston 
walking  on  her  other  side. 

She  turned  to  the  latter  as  they  reached  it. 
"Where  is  Hanani?"  she  said. 

He  raised  his  brows  for  a  moment.  "She  has 
probably  gone  back  to  her  people,"  he  an- 
swered. 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"She  was  here  with  me,  only  a  minute  ago," 
Stella  said. 

He  glanced  round.  "She  knows  her  way  no 
doubt.  We  had  better  not  wait  now.  If  you 
want  her,  I  will  find  her  for  you  later. " 

' '  Thank  y©u,"  Stella  said.  But  she  still  paused, 
looking  from  Ralston  to  Tommy  and  back  again, 
as  one  uncertain. 

"What  is  it,  darling?"  said  Tommy  gently. 

She  put  her  hand  to  her  head  with  a  weary  ges- 
ture of  bewilderment.  "I  am  very  stupid,"  she 
said.  "I  can't  think  properly.  You  are  sure 
everything  is  all  right?" 

"Quite  sure,  dear,"  he  said.  "Don't  try  to 
think  now.  You  are  done  up.  You  must  rest." 

Her  face  quivered  suddenly  like  the  face  of  a 
tired  child.  "I  want — Everard, "  she  said  pit- 
eously.  "Won't  you — can't  you — bring  him  to 
me?  There  is  something — I  want — to  say  to 
him." 

There  was  an  instant's  pause.  She  felt  Tommy's 
arm  tighten  protectingly  around  her,  but  he  did 
not  speak. 

1 1  was  Major  Ralston  who  answered  her.  ' '  Cer- 
tainly he  shall  come  to  you.  I  will  see  that  he 
does." 

The  confidence  of  his  reply  comforted  her.  She 
trusted  Major  Ralston  instinctively.  She  entered 
the  litter  and  sank  down  among  the  cushions  with 
a  sigh. 

As  they  bore  her  away  along  the  narrow,  winding 


The  Desert  of  Ashes          511 

path  which  once  she  had  trodden  with  Everard 
Monck  so  long,  long  ago,  on  the  night  of  her  sur- 
render to  the  mastery  of  his  love,  utter  exhaustion 
overcame  her  and  the  sleep,  which  for  so  long  she 
had  denied  herself,  came  upon  her  like  an  over- 
whelming flood,  sweeping  her  once  more  into  the 
deeps  of  oblivion.  She  went  without  a  backward 
thought. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ANGEL 

IT  was  many  hours  before  she  awoke  and  in  all 
those  hours  she  never  dreamed.  She  only  slept 
and  slept  and  slept  in  total  unconsciousness,  wrapt 
about  in  the  silence  of  her  desert. 

She  awoke  at  length  quite  fully,  quite  suddenly, 
to  a  sense  of  appalling  loneliness,  to  a  desolation 
unutterable.  She  opened  her  eyes  wide  upon  a 
darkness  that  could  be  felt,  and  almost  cried  aloud 
with  the  terror  of  it.  For  a  few  palpitating 
moments  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  most  dreadful 
thing  that  could  possibly  happen  to  her  had  come 
upon  her  unawares. 

And  then,  even  as  she  started  up  in  a  wild 
horror,  a  voice  spoke  to  her,  a  hand  touched  her, 
and  her  fear  was  stayed. 

1 '  Stella ! "  the  voice  said,  and  steady  fingers  came 
up  out  of  the  darkness  and  closed  upon  her  arm. 

Her  heart  gave  one  great  leap  within  her,  and 
was  still.  She  did  not  speak  in  answer,  for  she 
could  not.  She  could  only  sit  in  the  darkness  and 
wait.  If  it  were  a  dream,  it  would  pass — ah,  so 
swiftly !  If  it  were  reality,  surely,  surely  he  would 
speak  again! 

512 


The  Angel  5*3 

He  spoke — softly  through  the  silence.  "I 
don't  want  to  startle  you.  Are  you  startled ?  I've 
put  out  the  lamp.  You  are  not  afraid?" 

Her  voice  came  back  to  her;  her  heart  jerked  on, 
beating  strangely,  spasmodically,  like  a  maimed 
thing.  "Am  I  awake?"  she  said.  "Is  it — really 
— you?" 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Can  you  listen  to  me  a 
moment  ?  You  won't  be  afraid  ? ' ' 

She  quivered  at  the  repeated  question.  ' '  Ever- 
ard, — no!" 

He  was  silent  then,  as  if  he  did  not  know  how 
to  continue.  And  she,  finding  her  strength,  leaned 
to  him  in  the  darkness,  feeling  for  him,  still  hardly 
believing  that  it  was  not  a  dream. 

He  took  her  wandering  hand  and  held  it  impris- 
oned. The  firmness  of  his  grasp  reassured  her, 
but  it  came  to  her  that  his  hands  were  cold ;  and  she 
wondered. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you, "  he  said. 

She  sat  quite  still  in  his  hold,  but  it  frightened 
her.  ' '  Where  are  you  ? ' '  she  whispered. 

"I  am  just — kneeling  by  your  side,"  he  said- 
"Don't  tremble — or  be  afraid!  There  is  nothing 
to  frighten  you.  Stella, ' '  his  voice  came  almost  in 
a  whisper.  "Hanani — the  ayah — told  you  some- 
thing in  the  ruined  temple  at  Khanmulla.  Can 
you  remember  what  it  was? " 

"Ah!"  she  said.  "Do  you  mean  about — 
Ralph  Dacre?" 

"I  do  mean  that,"  he  said.    "I  don't  know  if 


5H       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

you  actually  believed  it.  It  may  have  sounded — 
fantastic.  But — it  was  true. " 

"Ah!"  she  said  again.  And  then  she  knew 
why  he  had  turned  out  the  lamp.  It  was  that  he 
might  not  see  her  face  when  he  told  her — or  she 
his. 

He  went  on;  his  hold  upon  her  had  tightened, 
but  she  knew  that  he  was  unconscious  of  it.  It 
was  as  if  he  clung  to  her  in  anguish — though  she 
heard  no  sign  of  suffering  in  his  low  voice.  "I 
have  done  the  utmost  to  keep  the  truth  from  you — • 
but  Fate  has  been  against  me  all  through.  I  sent 
him  away  from  you  in  the  first  place  because  I 
heard — too  late — that  he  had  a  wife  in  England. 
I  married  you  because — "  he  paused  momentarily 
— "ah  well,  that  doesn't  come  into  the  story,"  he 
said.  "I  married  you,  believing  you  free.  Then 
came  Bernard,  and  told  me  that  the  wife — Dacre's 
wife — had  died  just  before  his  marriage  to  you. 
That  also  came — too  late. " 

He  stopped  again,  and  she  knew  that  his  head 
was  bowed  upon  his  arms  though  she  could  not 
free  her  hand  to  touch  it. 

"You  know  the  rest,"  he  said,  and  his  voice 
came  to  her  oddly  broken  and  unfamiliar.  "I 
kept  it  from  you.  I  couldn't  bear  the  thought  of 
your  facing — that, — especially  after — after  the 
birth  of — the  child.  Even  when  you  found  out  I 
had  tricked  you  in  that  native  rig-out,  I  couldn't 
endure  the  thought  of  your  knowing.  I  nearly 
killed  myself  that  night.  It  seemed  the  only  way. 


The  Angel  515 

But  Bernard  stopped  me.  I  told  him  the  truth. 
He  said  I  was  wrong  not  to  tell  you.  But — some- 
how— I  couldn't. " 

"Oh,  I  wish — I  wish  you  had,"  she  breathed. 

"Do  you?  Well, — I  couldn't.  It's  hard  enough 
to  tell  you  now.  You  were  so  wonderful,  so 
beautiful,  and  they  had  flung  mud  at  you  from  the 
beginning.  I  thought  I  had  made  you  safe,  dear, 
instead  of — dragging  you  down. " 

"Everard!"  Her  voice  was  quick  and  passion- 
ate. She  made  a  sudden  effort  and  freed  one  hand ; 
but  he  caught  it  again  sharply. 

"No,  you  mustn't,  Stella!  I  haven't  finished. 
Wait!" 

His  voice  compelled  her;  she  submitted  hardly 
knowing  that  she  did  so. 

"  It  is  over  now, ' '  he  said.  ' '  The  fellow  is  dead. 
But,  Stella, — he  had  found  out — what  I  had  found 
out.  And  he  was  on  his  way  to  you.  He  meant 
to — claim  you. " 

She  shuddered — a  hard,  convulsive  shudder — 
as  if  some  loathsome  thing  had  touched  her.  "But 
— I  would  never  have  gone  back, "  she  said. 

"No,"  he  answered  grimly,  "you  wouldn't. 
I  was  here,  and  I  should  have  shot  him.  They 
saved  me  that  trouble. " 

"You  were — here!"  she  said. 

"Yes, — much  nearer  to  you  than  you  imagined. " 
Almost  curtly  he  answered.  "Did  you  think  I 
would  leave  you  at  the  mercy  of  those  devils? 
You!"  He  stopped  himself  sharply.  "No  I  was 


The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

here  to  protect  you — and  I  would  have  done  it — 
though  I  should  have  shot  myself  afterwards. 
Even  Bernard  would  have  seen  the  force  of  that. 
But  it  didn't  come  to  pass  that  way.  It  wasn't 
intended  that  it  should.  Well,  it  is  over.  There 
are  not  many  who  know — only  Bernard,  Tommy, 
and  Ralston.  They  are  going — if  possible — to 
keep  it  dark,  to  suppress  his  name.  I  told  them 
they  must. "  His  voice  rang  suddenly  harsh,  but 
softened  again  immediately.  "That's  all,  dear — 
— or  nearly  all.  I  hope  it  hasn't  shocked  you 
unutterably.  I  think  the  secret  is  safe  anyhow, 
so  you  won't  have — that — to  face.  I'm  going 
now.  I'll  send — Peter — to  light  the  lamp  and 
bring  you  something  to  eat.  And  you'll  undress, 
won't  you,  and  go  to  bed?  It's  late." 

He  made  as  if  he  would  rise,  but  her  hands  turned 
swifily  in  his,  turned  and  held  him  fast. 

"Everard — Everard,  why  should  you  go?"  she 
whispered  tensely  into  the  darkness  that  hid  his 
face. 

He  yielded  in  a  measure  to  her  hold,  but  he 
would  not  suffer  himself  to  be  drawn  nearer. 

"Why?"  she  said  again  insistently. 

He  hesitated.  "I  think,"  he  said  slowly 
"that  you  will  find  an  answer  to  that  question — 
possibly  more  than  one — when  you  have  had  time 
to  think  it  over." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  breathed. 

"Must  I  put  it  into  words?"  he  said. 

She  heard  the  pain  in  his  voice,  but  for  the  first 


The  Angel  517 

time  she  passed  it  by  unheeded.  "Yes,  tell  me!" 
she  said.  "I  must  know." 

He  was  silent  for  a  little,  as  if  mustering  his 
forces.  Then,  his  hands  tight  upon  hers,  he  spoke. 
"In  the  first  place,  you  are  Dacre's  widow,  and  not 
— my  wife." 

She  quivered  in  his  hold.  "And  then?"  she 
whispered. 

"And  then, "  he  said,  "our  baby  is  dead,  so  you 
are  free  from  all — obligations. " 

Her  hands  clenched  hard  upon  his.  "Is  that 
all?" 

"No."  With  sudden  passion  he  answered  her. 
"There  are  two  more  reasons  why  I  should  go. 
One  is — that  I  have  made  your  life  a  hell  on  earth. 
You  have  said  it,  and  I  know  it  to  be  true.  Ah, 
you  had  better  let  me  go — and  go  quickly.  For 
your  own  sake — you  had  better!" 

But  she  ignored  the  warning,  holding  him  almost 
fiercely.  "And  the  last  reason?"  she  said. 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  seconds,  and  in  his  silence 
there  was  something  of  an  electric  quality,  some- 
thing that  pierced  and  scorched  yet  strangely  drew 
her.  "Someone  else  can  tell  you  that, "  he  said  at 
length.  "It  isn't  that  I  am  a  broken  man.  I 
know  that  wouldn't  affect  you  one  way  or  another. 
It  is  that  I  have  done  a  thing  that  you  would  hate 
• — yet  that  I  would  do  again  to-morrow  if  the  need 
arose.  You  can  ask  Ralston  what  it  is!  Say 
I  told  you  to!  He  knows." 

"But  I  ask  you,"  she  said,  and  still  her  hands 


518       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

gripped  his.  "Everard,  why  don't  you  tell  me? 
Are  you — afraid  to  tell  me?" 

"No,"  he  said. 

"Then  answer  me!"  she  said,  her  breathing 
sharp  and  uneven.  "Tell  me  the  truth!  Make 
me  understand  you — once  and  for  all!" 

"You  have  always  understood  me,"  he  said. 

' '  No — no ! "  she  protested. 

"Well,  nearly  always, "  he  amended.  "As  long 
as  you  have  known  my  love — you  have  known  me. 
My  love  for  you  is  myself — the  immortal  part. 
The  rest — doesn't  count." 

"Ah!"  she  said,  and  suddenly  the  very  soul  of 
her  rose  up  and  spoke.  "Then  you  needn't  tell 
me  any  more,  dear  love — dear  love.  I  don't  need 
to  hear  it.  It  doesn't  matter.  It  can't  make  any 
difference.  Nothing  ever  can  again,  for,  as  you 
say,  nothing  else  counts.  Go  if  you  must, — but 
if  you  do — I  shall  follow  you — I  shall  follow  you — 
to  the  world's  end. " 

"Stella!  "he  said. 

"I  mean  it, "  she  told  him,  and  her  voice  throb- 
bed with  a  fiery  force  that  was  deeper  than  passion, 
stronger  than  aught  human.  "You  are  mine  and 
I  am  yours.  God  knows,  dear, — God  knows  that 
is  all  that  matters  now.  I  didn't  understand 
before.  I  do  now,  I  think  —  suffering  has 
taught  me — many  things.  Perhaps  it  is — His 
Angel. " 

"The  Angel  with  the  Flaming  Sword,"  he  said, 
under  his  breath. 


The  Angel 

"But  the  Sword  is  turned  away,"  she  said. 
"The  way  is  open. " 

He  got  to  his  feet  abruptly.  "Wait!"  he  said. 
"Before  you  say  that — wait!" 

He  freed  himself  from  her  hold  gently  but  very 
decidedly.  She  knew  that  for  a  second  he  stood 
close  above  her  with  arms  outflung  before  he 
turned  away.  Then  there  came  the  rasp  of  a 
match,  a  sudden  flare  in  the  darkness.  She  looked 
to  see  his  face — and  uttered  a  cry. 

It  was  Hanani,  the  veiled  ayah,  who  stooped  to 
kindle  the  lamp.  .  .  . 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   DAWN 

"  THIS  country  is  like  an  infernal  machine,"  said 
Bernard.  "You  never  know  when  it's  going  to 
explode.  There's  only  one  reliable  thing  in  it,  and 
that's  Peter. " 

He  turned  his  bandaged  head  in  the  latter's 
direction,  and  received  a  tender,  indulgent  smile 
in  answer.  Peter  loved  the  big  blue-eyed  sahib 
with  the  same  love  which  he  had  for  the  children  of 
the  sahib-log. 

"Whatever  happens,"  Bernard  continued, 
"there's  always  Peter.  He  keeps  the  whole  show 
going,  and  is  never  absent  when  wanted.  In  fact, 
I  begin  to  think  that  India  wouldn't  be  India 
without  him." 

"A  very  handsome  compliment, "  said  Sir  Regi- 
nald. 

"It  is,  isn't  it?"  smiled  Bernard.  "I  have  a 
vast  respect  for  him — a  quite  unbounded  respect. 
He  is  the  greatest  greaser  of  wheels  I  have  ever  met. 
Help  yourself,  sir,  won't  you?  I  am  sorry  I  can't 
join  you,  but  Major  Ralston  insists  that  I  must 
walk  circumspectly,  being  on  his  sick  list.  I  reallw 
520 


The  Dawn  521 

don't  know  why  my  skull  was  not  cracked.  He 
declares  it  ought  to  have  been  and  even  seems 
inclined  to  be  rather  disgusted  with  me  because  it 
wasn't." 

"You  had  a  very  lucky  escape,"  said  Sir  Regi- 
nald. ' '  Allow  me  to  congratulate  you ! ' ' 

"And  a  very  enjoyable  scrap,"  said  Bernard, 
with  kindling  eyes.  "Thanks!  I  wouldn't  have 
missed  it  for  the  world, — the  damn'  dirty  black- 
guards!" 

"Was  Mrs.  Monck  much  upset?"  asked  Sir 
Reginald.  "I  have  never  yet  had  the  pleasure 
of  meeting  her. " 

"She  was  more  upset  on  my  brother's  account 
than  her  own,"  Bernard  said,  giving  his  visitor 
a  shrewd  look.  "She  thought  he  had  come  to 
harm." 

"Ah!"  said  Sir  Reginald,  and  held  his  glass 
up  to  the  light.  "And  that  was  not  so?" 

"No,"  said  Bernard,  and  closed  his  lips. 

There  was  a  distinct  pause  before  Sir  Regi- 
nald's eyes  left  his  glass  and  came  down  to  him. 
They  held  a  faint  whimsical  smile. 

"We  owe  your  brother  a  good  deal,"  he  said. 

"Do  we?"  said  Bernard. 

Sir  Reginald's  smile  became  more  pronounced. 
"I  have  been  told  that  it  is  entirely  owing  to  him 
— his  forethought,  secrecy,  and  intimate  knowledge 
obtained  at  considerable  personal  risk — that  this 
business  was  not  of  a  far  more  serious  nature.  I 
was  of  course  in  constant  communication  with 


522        The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

Colonel  Mansfield.  We  knew  exactly  where  the 
danger  lay,  and  we  were  prepared  for  all  emer- 
gencies." 

"Except  the  one  which  actually  rose,  "  suggested 
Bernard. 

' '  That  ? ' '  said  Sir  Reginald.  ' '  That  was  a  mere 
flash  in  the  pan.  But  we  were  prepared  even  for 
that.  My  men  were  all  in  Markestan  by  daybreak, 
thanks  to  the  promptitude  of  young  Denvers." 

"If  all  our  throats  had  been  slit  the  previous 
night,  that  wouldn't  have  helped  us  much, "  Ber- 
nard pointed  out. 

Sir  Reginald  broke  into  a  laugh.  ' '  Well,  dash  it, 
man!  We  did  our  best.  And  anyway  they  weren't, 
so  you  haven't  much  cause  for  complaint." 

' '  You  see,  I  was  one  of  the  casualties, ' '  explained 
Bernard.  "That  accounts  for  my  being  a  bit 
critical.  So  you  expected  something  worse  than 
this?" 

"I  did."  Sir  Reginald  spoke  soberly  again. 
"  If  we  hadn't  been  prepared,  the  whole  of  Markes- 
tan would  have  been  ablaze  by  now  from  end  to 
end." 

"Instead  of  which,  you  have  only  permitted  us 
a  fizz,  a  few  bangs,  and  a  splutter-out,  as  Tommy 
describes  it,"  remarked  Bernard.  "And  you 
haven't  even  caught  the  Rajah." 

"I  wasn't  out  to  catch  him, "  said  Sir  Reginald. 
4 '  But  I  will  tell  you  who  I  am  out  to  catch,  though 
I  am  afraid  I  am  applying  in  the  wrong  quarter." 

Bernard's  eyes  gleamed  with  a  hint  of  malicious 


The  Dawn  523 

amusement.  "I  thought  my  health  was  not  pri- 
marily responsible  for  the  honour  of  your  visit, 
sir, "  he  said. 

"No,"  said  Sir  Reginald,  with  simplicity.  "I 
really  came  because  I  want  to  take  you  into  my 
confidence,  and  to  ask  for  your  confidence  in 
return." 

"I  thought  so, "  said  Bernard,  and  slowly  shook 
his  head.  "I'm  afraid  it's  no  go.  I  am  sealed." 

"Ah!  And  that  even  though  I  give  you  my 
word  it  would  be  to  your  brother's  interest  to 
break  the  seal? "  questioned  Sir  Reginald. 

Bernard's  eyes  suddenly  drooped  under  their 
red  brows.  "And  betray  my  trust?"  he  said 
lazily. 

' '  I  beg  your  pardon,  "said  Sir  Reginald. 

He  finished  his  drink  with  a  speed  that  sug- 
gested embarrassment,  but  the  next  moment  he 
smiled.  "You  had  me  there,  padre.  I  withdraw 
the  suggestion.  I  should  not  have  made  it  if  I 
could  see  the  man  himself.  But  he  has  disap- 
peared, and  even  Barnes,  who  knows  everything, 
can't  tell  us  where  to  look  for  him." 

"Neither  can  I,"  said  Bernard.  "I  am  not  in 
his  confidence  to  that  extent." 

"Why  don't  you  ask  his  wife? "  a  low  voice  said. 

Both  men  started.  Sir  Reginald  sprang  to  his 
feet .  "  Mrs .  Monck ! ' ' 

"Yes,"  Stella  said.  She  stood  a  moment 
framed  in  the  French  window,  looking  at  him. 
Then  she  stepped  forward  with  outstretched  hand. 


524       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

The  morning  sunshine  caught  her  as  she  moved. 
She  was  very  pale  and  her  eyes  were  deeply  shad- 
owed, but  she  was  exceedingly  beautiful. 

"I  heard  your  voices, "  she  said,  looking  at  Sir 
Reginald,  while  her  hand  lay  in  his.  "I  didn't 
mean  to  listen  at  first.  But  I  was  tempted,  be- 
cause you  were  talking  of — my  husband,  and — " 
she  smiled  at  him  faintly,  "I  fell." 

"I  think  you  were  justified,"  Sir  Reginald  said. 

"Thank  you,"  she  answered  gently.  She 
turned  from  him  to  Bernard,  and  bending  kissed 
him.  "Are  you  better?  Peter  told  me  it  wasn't 
serious.  I  would  have  come  to  you  sooner,  but  I 
was  asleep  for  a  very  long  time,  and  afterwards — 
Everard  wanted  me. " 

"Everard!"  he  said   sharply.     "Is  he  here?" 

"Sit  down!"  murmured  Sir  Reginald,  drawing 
forward  his  chair. 

But  Stella  remained  standing,  her  hand  upon 
Bernard's  shoulder.  ' '  Thank  you.  But  I  haven't 
come  to  stay.  Only  to  tell  you — just  to  tell  you — 
all  the  things  that  Bernard  couldn't,  without 
betraying  his  trust. " 

"My  dear,  dear  child!"  Bernard  broke  in 
quickly,  but  Sir  Reginald  intervened  in  the 
same  moment. 

"No,  no!  Pardon  me!  Let  her  speak!  She 
wishes  to  do  so,  and  I — wish  to  listen.  " 

Stella's  hand  pressed  a  little  upon  Bernard's 
shoulder,  as  though  she  supported  herself  thereby. 

"  It  is  right  that  you  should  know,  Sir  Reginald, " 


The  Dawn  525 

she  said.  "  It  is  only  for  my  sake  that  it  has  been 
kept  from  you.  But  I — have  travelled  the  desert 
too  long  to  mind  an  extra  stone  or  two  by  the  way. 
First,  with  regard  to  the  suspicion  which  drove  him 
out  of  the  Army.  You  thought — everyone  thought 
— that  he  had  killed  Ralph  Dacre  up  in  the  mount- 
ains. Even  I  thought  so. ' '  Her  voice  trembled 
a  little.  ' '  And  I  had  less  excuse  than  any  one  else, 
for  he  swore  to  me  that  he  was  innocent — though 
he  would  not — could  not — tell  me  the  truth  of 
the  matter.  The  truth  was  simply  this.  Ralph 
Dacre  was  not  dead. ' ' 

"Ah!"  Sir  Reginald  said  softly. 

Bernard  reached  up  and  strongly  grasped  the 
hand  that  rested  upon  him.  But  he  spoke  no 
word. 

Stella  went  on  with  greater  steadiness,  her  eyes 
resolutely  meeting  the  shrewd  old  eyes  that  watched 
her.  "He — Everard — came  between  us  because 
only  a  fortnight  after  our  marriage  he  received  the 
news  that  Ralph  had  a  wife  living  in  England. 
Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you — though  this  in  no  way 
influenced  him — that  my  marriage  to  Ralph  was  a 
mistake.  I  married  him  because  I  was  unhappy, 
not  because  I  loved  him.  I  sinned,  and  I  have 
been  punished." 

"Poor  girl!"  said  Sir  Reginald  very  gently. 

Her  eyelids  quivered,  but  she  would  not  suffer 
them  to  fall.  "Everard  sent  him  away  from  me, 
made  him  vanish  completely,  and  then  came  him- 
self to  me — he  was  in  native  disguise — and  told  me 


526       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

he  was  dead.  I  suppose  it  was  wrong  of  him. 
If  so,  he  too  has  been  punished.  But  he  wanted 
to  save  my  pride.  I  had  plenty  of  pride  in  those 
days.  It  is  all  gone  now.  At  least,  all  I  have  left 
is  for  him — that  his  honour  may  be  vindicated.  I 
am  afraid  I  am  telling  the  story  very  badly.  For- 
give me  for  taking  so  long!" 

"There  is  no  hurry, "  Sir  Reginald  answered  in 
the  same  gentle  voice.  "And  you  are  telling  it 
very  well. " 

She  smiled  again — her  faint,  sad  smile.  "You 
are  very  kind.  It  makes  it  much  easier.  You 
know  how  clever  he  is  in  native  disguise.  I  never 
recognized  him.  I  came  back,  as  I  thought,  a 
widow.  And  then — it  was  nearly  a  year  after — I 
married  Everard,  because  I  loved  him.  It  was 
just  before  Captain  Ermsted's  murder.  We  had 
to  come  back  here  in  a  hurry  because  of  it.  Then 
when  the  summer  came  we  had  to  separate.  I 
went  to  Bhulwana  for  the  birth  of  my  baby.  And 
while  I  was  there,  he  heard  that  Ralph  Dacre's 
wife  had  died  in  England  only  a  few  days  before  his 
marriage  to  me.  That  meant  of  course  that  I  was 
not  Everard's  legal  wife,  that  the  baby  was  illegiti- 
mate. But — I  was  very  ill  at  the  time — he  kept  it 
from  me. " 

' '  Of  course  he  did, "  said  Sir  Reginald. 

"Of  course  he  did, "  said  Bernard. 

"Yes,"  she  assented.  "He  couldn't  help  him- 
self then.  But  he  ought  to  have  told  me  after- 
wards— when — when  I  began  to  have  that  horrible 


The  Dawn  527 

suspicion  that  everyone  else  had,  that  he  had 
murdered  Ralph  Dacre. " 

"A  difficult  point, "  said  Sir  Reginald. 

"I  told  him  he  was  making  a  mistake, "  said 
Bernard. 

Stella  glanced  down  at  him.  "It  was  a  mis- 
take, "  she  said.  "But  he  made  it  out  of  love  for 
me,  because  he  thought — he  thought — that  my 
pride  was  dearer  to  me  than  my  love.  I  don't 
wonder  he  thought  so.  I  gave  him  every  reason. 
For  I  wouldn't  listen  to  him,  wouldn't  believe  him. 
I  sent  him  away. "  Her  breath  caught  suddenly, 
and  she  put  a  quick  hand  to  her  throat.  "That 
is  what  hurts  me  most, "  she  said  after  a  moment, 
— "just  to  remember  that, — to  remember  what  I 
made  him  suffer — how  I  failed  him — when  Tommy, 
even  Tommy,  believed  in  him — went  after  him  to 
tell  him  so." 

"But  we  all  make  mistakes, "  said  Sir  Reginald 
gently,  "or  we  shouldn't  be  human. " 

She  controlled  herself  with  an  effort.  "Yes. 
He  said  that,  and  told  me  to  forget  it.  I  don't 
know  if  I  can,  but  I  shall  try.  I  shall  try  to  make 
up  to  him  for  it  for  as  long  as  I  live.  And  I  thank 
God — for  giving  me  the  chance. " 

Her  deep  voice  quivered,  and  Bernard's  hand 
tightened  upon  hers.  "Yes,"  he  said,  looking  at 
Sir  Reginald.  ' '  Ralph  Dacre  is  dead.  He  was  the 
unknown  man  who  was  shot  in  the  jungle  two 
nights  ago. ' ' 

"Indeed!"  said  Sir  Reginald  sharply. 


528       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Yes,"  Stella  said.  "He  too  had  found  out — 
about  the  death  of  his  first  wife.  And  he  was 
on  his  way  to  me.  But — "  she  suddenly  covered 
her  eyes — ' '  I  couldn't  have  borne  it.  I  would  have 
killed  myself  first. " 

Bernard  reached  up  and  thrust  his  arm  about 
her,  without  speaking. 

She  leaned  against  him  for  a  few  seconds  as  if 
the  story  had  taxed  her  strength  too  far.  Then 
Sir  Reginald  came  to  her  and  with  a  fatherly  ges- 
ture drew  her  hand  away  from  her  face. 

"My  dear,"  he  said  very  kindly,  "thank  you  a 
thousand  times  for  telling  me  this.  I  know  it's 
been  infernally  hard.  I  admire  you  for  it  more 
than  I  can  say.  It  hasn't  been  too  much  for  you 
I  hope?" 

She  smiled  at  him  through  tears.  "No — no! 
You  are  both — so  kind. " 

He  stooped  with  a  very  courtly  gesture  and 
carried  her  hand  to  his  lips.  ' '  Everard  Monck  is  a 
very  lucky  man, ' '  he  said, ' '  but  I  think  he  is  almost 
worthy  of  his  luck.  And  now — I  want  you  to  tell 
me  one  thing  more.  Where  can  I  find  him  ? ' ' 

Her  hand  trembled  a  little  in  his.  ' '  I — am  not 
sure  he  would  wish  me  to  tell  you  that. " 

Sir  Reginald's  grey  moustache  twitched  whimsi- 
cally. ' '  If  his  desire  for  privacy  is  so  great,  it  shall 
be  respected.  Will  you  take  him  a  message  from 
me?" 

"Of  course, "  she  said. 

Sir  Reginald  patted  her  hand  and  released  it. 


The  Dawn  529 

"Then  please  tell  him, "  he  said,  "that  the  Indian 
Empire  cannot,  afford  to  lose  the  services  of  so 
valuable  a  servant  as  he  has  proved  himself  to  be, 
and  if  he  will  accept  a  secretaryship  with  me  I 
think  there  is  small  doubt  that  it  will  eventually 
lead  to  much  greater  things. " 

Stella  gave  a  great  start.  "Oh,  do  you  mean 
that?"  she  said. 

Sir  Reginald  smiled  openly.  "I  really  do,  Mrs. 
Monck,  and  I  shall  think  myself  very  fortunate 
to  secure  him.  You  will  use  your  influence,  I 
hope,  to  induce  him  to  accept?" 

"But  of  course, "  she  said. 

' ' Poor  Stella ! ' '  said  B ernard.  "And  she  hates 
India!" 

She  turned  upon  him  almost  in  anger.  "How 
dare  you  pity  me  ?  I  love  anywhere  that  I  can  be 
with  him." 

"So  like  a  woman!"  commented  Bernard.  "Or 
is  it  something  in  the  air?  I'll  never  bring  Tessa 
out  here  when  she's  grown  up,  or  she'll  marry  and 
be  stuck  here  for  the  rest  of  her  life. " 

"You  can  do  as  you  like  with  Tessa,"  said 
Stella,  and  turned  again  to  Sir  Reginald.  ' 4  Is  that 
all  you  want  of  me  now? " 

"One  thing  more,"  he  answered  gently.  "I 
hope  I  may  say  it  without  giving  offence. " 

With  a  gesture  ail-unconsciously  regal  she 
gave  him  both  her  hands.  "You  may  say — 
anything, "  she  said  impulsively. 

He  bent   again   courteously.     "Mrs.    Monck, 


530       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

will  you  invite  me  to  witness  the  ratification 
of  the  bond  already  existing  between  my  friend 
Everard  Monck,  and  the  lady  who  is  honouring 
him  by  becoming  his  lawful  wife?" 

She  flushed  deeply  but  not  painfully.  "I  will, " 
she  said.  "Bernard,  you  will  see  to  that,  I 
know." 

"Yes;  leave  it  to  me,  dear!"  said  Bernard. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said;  and  to  Sir  Reginald: 
"Good-bye!  I  am  going  to  my  husband  now." 

"Good-bye,  Mrs.  Monck!"  he  said.  "And 
many  thanks  for  your  graciousness  to  a  stranger. " 

"Oh  no!"  she  answered  quickly.  "You  are  a 
friend — of  us  both. " 

"I  am  proud  to  be  called  so, "  he  said. 

As  she  passed  back  into  the  bungalow  her  heart 
fluttered  within  her  like  the  wings  of  a  bird  mount- 
ing upwards  in  the  dawning.  The  sun  had  risen 
upon  the  desert. 


CHAPTER   XII 

THE    BLUE   JAY 

"TOMMY  says  his  name  is  Sprinter;  but  Uncle 
St.  Bernard  calls  him  Whisky.  I  wonder  which  is 
the  prettiest, "  said  Tessa. 

"I  should  call  him  Whisky  out  of  compliment 
to  Uncle  St.  Bernard,  "  said  Mrs.  Ralston. 

"He  certainly  does  whisk,"  said  Tessa.  "But 
then — Tommy  gave  him  to  me."  She  spoke  with 
tender  eyes  upon  a  young  mongoose  that  gam- 
bolled at  her  feet.  "Isn't  he  a  love?"  she  said. 
' '  But  he  isn't  nearly  so  pretty  as  darling  Scooter,  " 
she  added  loyally.  "  Is  he,  Aunt  Mary  ? ' ' 

' '  Not  yet,  dear, ' '  said  Mrs.  Ralston  with  a  smile. 

"I  wish  Uncle  St.  Bernard  and  Tommy  would 
come, "  said  Tessa  restlessly. 

' '  I  hope  you  are  going  to  be  very  good, ' '  said 
Mrs.  Ralston. 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Tessa  rather  wearily.  "But  I 
wish  I  hadn't  begun  quite  so  soon.  Do  you  think 
Uncle  St.  Bernard  will  spoil  me,  Aunt  Mary  ? " 

"I  hope  not,  dear,  "  said  Mrs.  Ralston. 

Tessa  sighed  a  little.  "I  wonder  if  I  shall  be 
sick  on  the  voyage  Home.  I  don't  want  to  be 
sick,  Aunt  Mary." 

531 


532       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"I  shouldn't  think  about  it  if  I  were  you,  dear, " 
said  Mrs.  Ralston  sensibly. 

"But  I  want  to  think  about  it,"  said  Tessa 
earnestly.  "I  want  to  think  about  every  minute 
of  it.  I  shall  enjoy  it  so.  Dear  Uncle  St.  Ber- 
nard said  in  his  letter  the  other  day  that  we  should 
be  like  the  little  pigs  setting  out  to  seek  their  for- 
tunes. He  says  he  is  going  to  send  me  to  school — 
only  a  day  school  though.  Aunt  Mary,  shall  I  like 
going  to  school?" 

"Of  course  you  will,  dear.  What  sensible  little 
girl  doesn't?" 

"I'm  sorry  I'm  going  away  from  you,"  said 
Tessa  suddenly.  "But  you'll  have  Uncle  Jerry, 
won't  you?  Just  the  same  as  Aunt  Stella  will 
have  darling  Uncle  Everard.  I  think  I'm  sorriest 
of  all  for  poor  Tommy. " 

"I  daresay  he  will  get  over  it,"  said  Mrs.  Ral- 
ston. "We  will  hope  so  anyway. " 

"He  has  promised  to  write  to  me,"  said  Tessa 
rather  wistfully.  "Do  you  think  he  will  forget 
to,  Aunt  Mary?" 

"I'll  see  he  doesn't,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston. 

"Oh,  thank  you."  Tessa  embraced  her  ten- 
derly. "And  I'll  write  to  you  very,  very  often. 
P'raps  I'll  write  in  French  some  day.  Would  you 
like  that?" 

"Oh,  very  much,"  said  Mrs.  Ralston. 

"Then  I  will, "  promised  Tessa.  "And  oh,  here 
they  are  at  last!  Take  care  of  Whisky  for  me 
while  I  go  and  meet  them!" 


The  Blue  Jay  533 

She  was  gone  with  the  words — a  little,  flying 
figure  with  arms  outspread,  rushing  to  meet  her 
friends. 

"That  child  gets  wilder  and  more  harum-scarum 
every  day,"  observed  Lady  Harriet,  who  was 
passing  The  Grand  Stand  in  her  carriage  at  the 
moment.  "She  will  certainly  go  the  same  way  as 
her  mother  if  that  very  easy-going  parson  has 
the  managing  of  her. " 

The  easy-going  parson,  however,  had  no  such 
misgivings.  He  caught  the  child  up  in  his  arms 
with  a  whoop  of  welcome. 

"Well  run,  my  Princess  Bluebell!  Hullo, 
Tommy!  Who  are  you  saluting  so  deferentially?" 

' '  Only  that  vicious  old  white  cat,  Lady  Harriet, ' ' 
said  Tommy.  "Hullo,  Tessa!  Your  legs  get  six 
inches  longer  every  time  I  look  at  'em.  Put  her 
down,  St.  Bernard!  She's  going  to  race  me  to 
The  Grand  Stand." 

"But  I  want  to  go  and  see  Uncle  Everard  and 
Aunt  Stella  at  The  Nest,"  protested  Tessa,  hang- 
ing back  from  the  contest.  ' '  Besides  Aunt  Mary 
says  I'm  not  to  get  hot." 

"You  can't  go  there  anyway,"  said  Tommy 
inexorably-  "The  Nest  is  closed  to  the  public 
for  to-night.  They  are  going  to  have  a  very 
sacred  and  particular  evening  all  to  themselves. 
That's  why  they  wouldn't  come  in  here  with 
us." 

"Are  they  love-making?"  asked  Tessa,  with 
serious  eyes.  "Do  you  know,  I  heard  a  blue  jay 


534       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

laughing  up  there  this  morning.  Was  that  what 
he  meant?" 

' '  Something  of  that  silly  nature, ' '  said  Tommy. 
"And  he's  going  to  be  a  public  character  is  Uncle 
Everard,  so  he  is  wise  to  make  the  most  of  his  pri- 
vacy now.  Ah,  Bhulwana, "  he  stretched  his  arms 
to  the  pine-trees,  "how  I  have  yearned  for 
thee!" 

"And  me  too,"  said  Tessa  jealously. 

He  looked  at  her.  ' '  You,  you  scaramouch  ?  Of 
course  not!  Whoever  yearned  for  a  thing  like 
you?  A  long-legged,  snub-nosed  creature  without 
any  front  teeth  worth  mentioning!" 

"I  have!  You're  horrid!"  cried  Tessa,  stamp- 
ing an  indignant  foot.  "Isn't  he  horrid,  Uncle  St. 
Bernard?  If  it  weren't  for  that  darling  mongoose, 
I  should  hate  him!" 

"Oh,  but  it's  wrong  to  hate  people,  you  know." 
Bernard  passed  a  pacifying  arm  about  her  quiver- 
ing form.  "You  just  treat  him  to  the  contempt 
he  deserves,  and  give  all  your  attention  to  your 
doting  old  uncle  who  has  honestly  been  longing 
for  you  from  the  moment  you  left  him! " 

"Oh,  darling!"  She  turned  to  him  swiftly. 
"I'll  never  go  away  from  you  again.  I  can  say 
that  now,  can't  I?" 

Her  red  lips  were  lifted.  He  stooped  and  kissed 
them.  "It's  the  one  thing  I  love  to  hear  you  say, 
my  princess, "  he  safd. 

The  sun  set  in  a  glory  of  red  and  purple  that 


The  Blue  Jay  535 

night,  spreading  the  royal  colours  far  across  the 
calm  sky. 

It  faded  very  quickly.  The  night  swooped 
down,  swift  and  soundless,  and  in  the  verandah  of 
the  bungalow  known  as  The  Nest  a  red  lamp 
glowed  with  a  steady  beam  across  the  darkness. 

Two  figures  stood  for  a  space  under  the  acacia 
by  the  gate,  lingering  in  the  evening  quiet.  Now 
and  then  there  was  the  flutter  of  wings  above  them, 
and  the  white  flowers  fell  and  scattered  like  bridal 
blossoms  all  around. 

"We  must  go  in,"  said  Stella.  "Peter  will  be 
disappointed  if  we  keep  the  dinner  waiting.  " 

"Ah!  We  mustn't  hurt  his  august  feelings," 
conceded  Everard.  "We  owe  him  a  mighty  lot, 
my  Stella.  I  wish  we  could  make  some  return." 

' '  His  greatest  reward  is  to  let  him  serve  us, ' '  she 
answered.  "His  love  is  the  kind  that  needs  to 
serve. " 

"Which  is  the  highest  kind  of  love,"  said  Everard 
holding  her  to  him.  "Do  you  know — Hanani 
discovered  that  for  me. " 

She  pressed  close  to  his  side.  "Everard  dar- 
ling, why  did  you  keep  that  secret  so  long?" 

"My  dear!"  he  said,  and  was  silent. 

' '  Well,  won't  you  tell  me  ? ' '  she  urged.  ' '  I  think 
you  might." 

He  hesitated  a  moment  longer;  then,  "Don't  let 
it  hurt  you,  dear!"  he  said.  "But — actually — I 
wasn't  sure  that  you  cared — until  I  was  with  you 
in  the  temple  and  saw  you — weeping  for  me.  " 


536       The  Lamp  in  the  Desert 

"Oh,  Everard!"  she  said. 

He  folded  her  in  his  arms.  "My  darling,  I 
thought  I  had  killed  your  love ;  and  even  though  I 
found  then  that  I  was  wrong,  I  wasn't  sure  that 
you  would  ever  forgive  me  for  playing  that  last 
trick  upon  you. ' ' 

"Ah!"  she  whispered.  "And  if  I — hadn't — 
forgiven — you?" 

"I  should  have  gone  away, "  he  said. 

' '  You  would  have  left  me  ? ' '     She  pressed  closer. 

"I  should  have  come  back  to  you  sometimes, 
sweetheart,  in  some  other  guise.  I  couldn't  have 
kept  away  for  ever.  But  I  would  never  have 
intruded  upon  you, "  he  said. 

' '  Everard !  Everard ! ' '  She  hid  her  face  against 
him.  ' '  You  make  me  feel  so  ashamed — so  utterly 
— unworthy." 

"Don't  darling!  Don't, "  he  whispered.  "Let 
us  be  happy — to-night!" 

"And  I  wanted  you  so!  I  missed  you  so!"  she 
said  brokenly. 

He  turned  her  face  up  to  his  own.  "I  missed 
myself  a  bit,  too,"  he  said.  "I  couldn't  have 
played  the  Hanani  game  if  Peter  hadn't  put  me  up 
to  it.  Darling,  are  those  actually  tears?  Because 
I  won't  have  them.  You  are  going  to  look  for- 
ward, not  back." 

She  clung  to  him  closely,  passionately.  ' '  Yes — 
yes.  I  will  look  forward.  But,  oh,  Everard, 
promise  me — promise  me — you  will  never  deceive 
me  again ! ' ' 


The  Blue  Jay  537 

"I  don't  believe  I  could,  any  more, "  he  said. 

"But  promise!"  she  urged. 

"Very  well,  my  dear  one.  I  promise.  There! 
Is  that  enough?"  He  kissed  her  quivering  face, 
holding  her  clasped  to  his  heart.  "I  will  never 
trick  you  again  as  long  as  I  live.  But  I  had  to  be 
near  you,  and  it  was  the  only  way.  Now — am  I 
quite  forgiven?" 

"Of  course  you  are, "  she  told  him  tremulously. 
"It  wasn't  a  matter  for  forgiveness.  Besides — 
anyhow — you  were  justified.  And, — Everard, — 
her  breathing  quickened  a  little;  she  just  caught 
back  a  sob — "I  love  to  think — now — that  your 
arms  held  our  baby — when  he  died. " 

"My  darling!  My  own  girl!"  he  said,  and 
stopped  abruptly,  for  his  voice  was  trembling  too. 

The  next  moment  very  tenderly  he  kissed  her 
again. 

"Please  God  he  won't  be  the  only  one!"  he  said 
softly. 

"Amen!"  she  whispered  back. 

In  the  acacia  boughs  above  them  the  blue  jay 
suddenly  uttered  a  rippling  laugh  of  sheer  joy  and 
flew  away. 

THE   END 


GREATHEART 

By  Ethel  M.  Dell 


were  two  of  them  —  as  unlike  as  two 
A  men  could  be.  Sir  Eustace,  big,  domineer- 
ing, haughty,  used  to  sweeping  all  before  him 
with  the  power  of  his  personality. 

The  other  was  Stumpy,  small,  insignificant, 
quiet,  with  a  little  limp. 

They  clashed  over  the  greatest  question  that 
may  come  to  men  —  the  love  of  a  girl. 

She  took  Sir  Eustace  just  because  she  could 
not  help  herself  —  and  was  swept  ahead  on  the 
tide  of  his  passion. 

And  then,  when  she  needed  help  most  —  on 
the  day  before  the  wedding  —  Stumpy  saved  her 
—  and  the  quiet  flame  of  his  eyes  was  more 
than  the  brute  power  of  his  brother. 

How  did  it  all  come  out?  Did  she  choose 
wisely  ?  Is  Greatheart  more  to  be  desired  than 
great  riches?  The  answer  is  the  most  vivid 
and  charming  story  that  Ethel  M.  Dell  has 
written  in  a  long  time. 

G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


The         >-} 
Hundredth    Chance 


By 

Ethel  M.  Dell 

Author  of  "The  Way  of  an   Eagle,"   "The   Knave  of 

Diamonds,"  "  The  Rocks  of  ValprS,"  "The  Keeper 

of  the  Door,"  "  Bars  of  Iron,"  etc. 

72°.     Color  Frontispiece  lu  Edna  Crompton 


The  hero  is  a  man  of  masterful  force,  of 
hard  and  rough  exterior,  who  can  remake  a 
human  being  with  the  assurance  of  success 
with  which  he  breaks  a  horse.  Toward  the 
heroine  he  is  all  love,  patience,  solicitude,  but 
she  sees  in  him  only  the  brute  and  the  master. 
To  break  down  her  hostility,  and  defeat  un- 
scrupulous craft  which  draws  her  relentlessly 
to  the  verge  of  disaster,  the  hero  can  rely  only 
on  the  weight  of  his  personality  and  innate 
tenderness.  It  is  the  Hundredth  Chance ;  on 
it  he  stakes  all. 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


BANKED  FIRES 


By 
E.  W.  SAVI 

Author  of  "The  Daughter-in-Law, " 
"Sinners  All,"  etc. 

The  love  story  of  a  strong  man.  "  His  was  not 
a  petty  nature,  given  to  the  faults  of  the  weak 
and  timid.  He  was  a  daring  and  defiant  sinner, 
risking  damnation,  as  he  had  once  said,  'for  the 
desire  of  his  heart.'  "  The  scene  is  partly  Eng- 
land and  partly  India.  Basil  Ring'  writes  of 
the  author:  "From  the  very  opening  words  she 
holds  one  with  the  spell  which  only  the  born 
story-teller  possesses.  ...  I  know  of  no  other 
Anglo-Indian  stories  which  transport  one  so  eas- 
ily to  the  interior  of  Hindustan  and  make  it  seem 
so  natural,  and  so  much  a  matter  of  course  to  be 
there." 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York  London 


THE  MOON  POOL 


BY 

A.  MERRITT 


Romance,  real  romance,  and  wonderful  ad- 
venture,— absolutely  impossible,  yet  utterly 
probable  !  A  story  one  almost  regrets  having 
read,  since  one  can  then  no  longer  read  it  for 
the  first  time.  Once  in  the  proverbial  blue 
moon  there  comes  to  the  fore  an  author  who 
can  conceive  and  write  such  a  tale.  Here  is 
one! 

Few  indeed  will  forget,  who,  with  the  Pro- 
fessor, watch  the  mystic  approach  of  the 
Shining  One  down  the  moon  path, — who  follow 
with  him  and  the  others  the  path  below  the 
Moon  Pool,  beyond  the  Door  of  the  Seven 
Lights ; — and  would  there  were  more  charac- 
ters in  fiction  like  Lakla  the  lovely  and  Larry 
O'Keefe  the  lovable. 

Perhaps  you  readers  will  know  who  were 
those  weird  and  awe-inspiring  Silent  Ones. 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


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